Chariots of the Gods
by lucidscreamer
Summary: AU The fate of the worlds depends on a golden puzzle, a young man named Yami, and his shattered soul. Giant robots, alien invaders, ancient magic. Eventual Yami/Yugi, Seto-centric subplot. Mentions of PTSD & character deaths.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Yugioh is the property of its talented creator, Kazuki Takahashi. This alternate version of the Yugi-verse is a fusion with an original world created by the author. All original settings, characters, etc. remain the property of the author.

Author's Note: I have used ancient Egyptian proper names (for places, people, etc.), including changing some of the characters' names to better fit the time period. I have only used ancient Egyptian terms where the modern translation falls short. Some concepts (such as _ma'at_ and that of the _ka_) simply do not translate well. Finally, while 'pharaoh' is not an ancient Egyptian title, it is one modern readers are familiar with so I have elected to use it interchangeably with the more proper 'king' when referring to the Lord of the Two Lands.

Special thanks to my "psi-reader" Kitt. For the brainstorming, "drivel" and help with duels, this one's for you.

Chariots of the Gods

A Yu-Gi-Oh! alternate universe fanfic novel  
by Lucidscreamer  
© Copyright 2004-2006

Prologue

In what should have been the still hours of the morning, the gray pre-dawn sky over the city of Waset was filled with the roar of fantastic creatures, both of metal and Shadow. Thick veils of dust hung like a suffocating pall in the air. More dust was thrown up by the impact of the monstrous combatants each time they crashed into the earth or--all too frequently--into a building. The huge bodies of the creatures pulverized mudbrick and limestone with unthinkable ease. Nothing escaped the destruction; not the palace halfway across the city to the east, nor the sprawling complex that housed the great stone tablets of the Shadow Monsters.

As the grounds of the temple complex shook with the impact of an enormous body plowing into the earth nearby, a tall man dressed in the long, pleated kilt of a Servant of the God raced along the broad avenue of sphinxes leading into the Shrine of Wedju. His clothing was of the finest transparent linen, but it was torn and stained with grime. Sweat left muddy streaks in the thin layer of dust coating his face and shaved scalp, and the kohl outlining his eyes was smeared. He had long since abandoned his formal wig and the dignified gate befitting a nobleman. Bare-headed and panting, he ran as if all the demons of the night were snapping at his heels, his sandals slapping against the paving stones.

Normally, this temple--like all the temples within the Two Lands--would have bustled with life and noise. In addition to the Pure Ones going about the daily business of the temple, there would have been scribes and students in the House of Life attached to the temple, and the myriad craftsman, artisans and others who served the temple each attending to their duties. Now, not even the porter or the soldiers who should have guarded the enormous pylon gates remained. Like the majority of the city's inhabitants, they had fled.

Inside a smaller chapel which branched off from the main shrine, three other priests-- two men and a woman-- awaited him. A fourth man, darker skinned and dressed in a soldier's short kilt, leaned with his spear against the back wall. The four priests exchanged worried glances as something huge screamed overhead, raising gooseflesh on the bodies of all who heard it. Then another quake nearly knocked them all off their feet. The gathered priests clung precariously to their dignity and their Items, and tried without success to ignore the toppling statues and chunks of white plaster that thudded to the floor around them. The soldier was stoic, barely even blinking as a falling piece of the painted ceiling missed his head by inches.

Seti, holder of the Scepter of a Thousand Years and the last of the priests to gather within the shrine, scowled as he dodged an alabaster lamp shaken from its shoulder-high stand. Stone flakes, sharp as blades, sliced across his face and neck, leaving bright streaks of blood in their wake and spattering him with hot oil. He brushed impatiently at a smear on his cheek, then stepped over the shattered remains of the lamp. His hawk's gaze fell on his fellow priests and he allowed himself a derisive snort, as usual finding them wanting. He worked with them because he must, but there was not one of them he could not best, nor one of them he truly trusted with the life and safety of the god-king.

Another tremor shook the temple. Seti stumbled, righting himself instantly, his hand tightening its grip on the golden Scepter. He wiped dust, sweat, and blood from his eyes, opening them to find himself the object of scrutiny. The three other surviving Chosen priests gathered around him, their fear and worry etched clearly on their features as they faced him. One of them, Shada, the priest who bore the Key of a Thousand Years, stepped forward.

"Where is the Divine One?" Shada asked urgently, his Item clutched in a white-knuckled grip. "We saw the attack on the palace. Is he--?"

"His Majesty lives." The flatness of his declaration belied Seti's own immense relief at the truth of his words.

When he had witnessed the final collapse of the palace, its thick, mudbrick walls crushed beneath the massive feet and fists of the invaders' giant metal monsters, he had been certain the King had perished within the rubble. But the great Lord Amun was merciful, in this at least, and the King had emerged from the ruins safe in the arms of his most loyal Shadow Monster. Seti knew that nothing short of the Dark Magician's own destruction would tear him from the Pharaoh's side. When he had still been fully human, Mahaad had wielded the Thousand Year Ring. Now, he had merged a part of his soul with his Shadow creature so that he might continue to serve the king even after his death.

"Where is he, then?" another, somewhat tremulous voice demanded. It was the voice of Kawab, the priest who held the Thousand Year Scales, and it revealed his fear. The dark eyes peering out from beneath his crooked wig were lined with strain. "Is he coming?"

"He will be here." The unflinching steel in Seti's voice made the other back away and drop his gaze. "Our King will not fail us."

"No, of course not," Shada said firmly. "We all have the utmost faith in Pharaoh--may he be blessed with life, health and strength."

His dark gaze swept the circle of priests. All of them averted their eyes before his piercing stare…all but Seti, who glared defiantly back at him. Shada's gaze softened slightly; Seti might be harsh and abrasive, but no one questioned his loyalty to their sovereign, though he sometimes had strange ways of showing it.

"Of course, we do," responded Asetnofret, the only woman present. Her beautiful face was serene despite the intermittent concussions that continued to shake the temple, her fine garments and wig still perfectly in place. One slender hand caressed the golden Necklace at her throat. "The Divine One will do that which must be done."

At her words, Seti felt his fists clench unbidden. "Are you so ready to condemn him to death?"

Asetnofret seemed taken aback by the harsh accusation in his voice. "It is not _I_ who would condemn him--"

"No, of course not." He grated out the words. "You only encouraged him with your visions!"

"I have only spoken the truth of what the Thousand Year Necklace has shown me." Again, her fingers gently caressed the golden eye at the center of her Item. "Of what must be done…"

"You merely echo the Shadows and all that they have whispered to our King." Seti snorted. "The Thousand Year Items were born of Shadow. Any vision they grant must remain suspect, for that reason, if no other. The Shadows want our King, and, if they have him, they will never let him go, not even unto the Field of Reeds."

He turned away with a sharp gesture of disgust, only to stiffen as he felt Aset's hand on his arm. He glared down at her, but the priestess met his glower unflinchingly.

"Our Pharaoh--may he have life, prosperity and health -- is strong. He has always been strong for us," she said softly. "Now, we must be strong for him. No matter how deeply it wounds us."

"Enough, Aset," Shada said. With a brief bow of her head, she obeyed, gliding back a step to stand beside Kawab, whose knuckles were white on the balance of his Item.

"The King is truly unhurt?" Shada asked, lowering his voice and leaning closer to Seti.

Seti nodded. "Mahaad…is with him."

"Praise be to Lord Amun-Ra." Shada closed his eyes briefly, then sighed and squared his shoulders beneath the fine linen of his robe. Unlike Seti's battle-stained and wrinkled attire, Shada's sheer white robe and calf-length kilt were spotless, their thin pleats neat and crisp. "There is very little time left, if this is to be done."

Not bothering to conceal his anger, Seti said, "We cannot allow His Majesty to go through with this. There must be another way!"

"You know there is not--"

"Then I will offer myself in his place!" Seti rounded on the other priest, startling Shada into falling back a step. "The Two Lands need him, now more than ever. He cannot be allowed to--"

"Only he can do this, Seti." Shada lowered his head, one hand stroking absently across the golden Key suspended on its heavy chain around his neck. "None of us, not even you, can hope to match the power of the Living Horus."

As much as it pained Seti to admit it, he knew the other was right. None of them could manipulate the Shadows with the skill that came so naturally to their King. Not even Seti, the strongest of the Chosen priests, could equal the Pharaoh's power.

He stared unseeingly at the decorated walls of the chapel where brightly painted frescoes depicted the former king, the Osiris Akhenamkhanen, kneeling as he made an offering of _ma'at_ to the Lord Amun-re. In the inner sanctum of the temple, not far from the side chapel where they awaited the King's arrival, rested the great stone tablets which held the Shadow Monsters -- many of which Seti and his fellow priests had drawn from criminals and other, more innocent, hearts.

During the reign of the previous king, the Chosen had used the Monsters to defend the Two Lands against invaders. The Monsters battled even now, but the metal soldiers of the enemy were an overwhelming force. As the war had progressed, Seti found his faith in the strength of the Monsters waning. He had sought greater, more powerful creatures, enlisting Shada's aid to seek out strong _kau_ and doing whatever it took to increase the power of the Shadow Monster that could be drawn from them…even if it meant killing the person within whose heart the makings of the creature nestled. Seti would do whatever it took to protect Kemet… and the Pharaoh who was the land's heart.

The King had spent his every waking moment fighting the invaders: constructing strategies to enable his badly out-armed and out-armored soldiers to battle the invaders' forces, reciting prayers and spells of protection, even leading his army into battle (the latter over Seti's strong objections). His efforts had borne fruit--despite the overwhelming odds against them, the armies of Kemet had not yet fallen entirely to the opposing forces--but it had all taken its toll on the young King. New lines of strain and exhaustion were etched between his brows and around his mouth, and he rarely slept. Seti wondered how much of this plan was the result of true vision…and how much was simple desperation.

Like the King, Seti had prayed for deliverance from the evil that sought to destroy them and gain the awesome power of the Shadows. But he was beginning to wonder if the King had lost the favor of his divine Father. All the supplication and offerings made in this and every other temple throughout the Two Lands had done nothing to rid them of the invaders, and so the destruction continued apace. If something were not done soon, there would nothing left of their beloved land--or the world beyond its borders. Even so, he could not condone what Pharaoh had planned. The Two Lands must be saved, yes. But not at the cost of their young sovereign's life -- and, even worse, his hope for the afterlife.

His hand clenched around his Scepter. The Pharaoh's plan was audacious, desperate…and possibly the only chance they had of defeating the invaders. Unfortunately, it was also fatal. If the King completed the ritual, he would not survive. Even worse, to seal the King's contract with the Shadows, a part of his very soul would be sealed within the Thousand Year Pendant. His soul incomplete, the King would be denied a joyous afterlife in the Field of Reeds.

"I cannot let him do this," Seti murmured, his own desperation evident in the tightness of his jaw, the rigidity of his posture, and the clenching of his fist around the Scepter. Bad enough to let the King die when Seti, like all the Item priests, was sworn to protect him. But to condemn the King after death, as well, to consign him to oblivion-- Seti's heart constricted, the thought alone more than he could bear. "I _cannot_--"

"You have no choice."

The new voice was deep, commanding…and extremely weary. Turning, Seti saw that the Pharaoh had joined them at last. The King's slender form was streaked from head to toe with dirt and dust, his once-fine linen clothing torn and smeared with blood and grime. And yet, he still looked every inch a king, his posture regal and unbowed, his dark gaze clear and determined. Along with the other priests, Seti sank to his knees in reverence.

"Rise. There is much to do and little time to do it." The King strode into the chamber, his faithful Shadow Monster floating solemnly at his side. His gaze fell on Shada. "You have made the necessary preparations?"

"Yes, Your Majesty." Shada briefly lowered his head, again. Then he gestured toward the center of the enormous room, where a stone slab had been carefully positioned. It was clear from the fresh chisel marks that the stone had been recently quarried and was not a usual fixture of the temple. The sacred words carved into its dull, sandy surface were roughly finished and free of paint, unlike the skillful depictions adorning the walls and ceiling of the room. "The workmen completed their tasks but an hour ago."

"Let us hope they did them well."

"Yes, we wouldn't want anything to go wrong with your suicide," Seti muttered dourly, following the King's lead as he strode over to examine the carved stone.

"Indeed," Pharaoh said dryly, slanting a measuring glance at his priest before bending to peer closely at the dense lines of inscription on the stone. The hieroglyphs covered almost every visible inch of the pale-colored rock. In the flickering light of the remaining lamps, Pharaoh's deep-brown eyes glinted with strange, red highlights. "This will be our only chance. We must not fail."

"Your Majesty--" Seti began, only to be stopped by the King's upraised hand. Lamplight glinted off the golden rings on his fingers.

"No. This is the only way." He straightened and turned to his priests. When he spoke, he addressed them all, but his gaze was fixed upon Seti. "I have to do this. My kingdom must not perish."

"Your kingdom needs you, Majesty," Seti argued, his blue eyes fierce. The King was the soul of Kemet. Without him, the land would falter, even perish… Seti shuddered. "You _are_ Kemet."

"Yes." The King nodded solemnly. "As you will be, when I am gone."

Seti's eyes widened. "I--"

"I have no sons," Pharaoh reminded him, his deep voice filled with regret. "It falls to you, Cousin, to take up the double crown." A faint, somewhat sardonic smile touched one corner of his mouth. "You may find it a heavy weight upon your brow."

Seti bowed his head. He knew the King was right, but… They had always been rivals, even as children, and Seti had long maintained that he was the superior warrior, duelist, scribe, the best at whatever challenge the two of them tackled together. He knew he could be king. Still…He had never wanted anything like this to happen. His voice was an angry growl. "I would give my life for you--"

"I know." Pharaoh laid a slender hand on Seti's arm--a mark of high honor. Few were granted the privilege of the divine king's touch. "But now I ask you to live for me, instead. You will do this and you will be a mighty king. The Two Lands will prosper, all shall sing praises to your name." A hint of mischief momentarily lightened the grim determination in the King's eyes. "As if your sense of your own greatness was in need of further inflation."

Seti's blue eyes narrowed at the insult. Then he realized what was happening and scowled. "Stop trying to sidetrack me. It won't work."

"Are you sure about that?" Smirking, the Pharaoh looked down at the golden Pendant, an inverted pyramid hanging from the chain around his neck, and absently stroked his palm over the raised _udjat_ on the Pendant's face. "We have been through this argument before, Seti. There is no other way. I _must_ do this."

"Then don't fail," Seti grated harshly. His voice was hoarse with strain; it dropped to a whisper when he continued, "And… _I_ will not fail _you_."

"You have always served me well." The Pharaoh's dark gaze swept the circle of priests. "As have you all. I ask this final thing of you, now. Serve me--and the Two Lands--one last time."

Again, the priests knelt, silently demonstrating their loyalty and reverence for their ruler.

Pharaoh nodded, satisfied. "Shada, are all the Items gathered here?"

"All but one, Divine One," Shada said, lowering his eyes. "The traitor priest, may the Devourer take him, has disappeared. We have recovered the Ring," he indicated a small bundle lying on the altar stone, "--and the evil one who stole it, but we believe the invaders now possess the sacred Eye."

Like the tomb robber, the traitor had forfeited his good name when he committed his evil deeds. Not one of those assembled would speak it. It would be stricken from official records and monuments, even from the walls of the traitor priest's tomb. His _ka_ would find no resting place, no offerings to sustain it. When he went West, he would join the unjustified dead who haunted the desert wastes. Fitting punishment for one who had betrayed the divine King.

"There is nothing to be done about that now," Pharaoh said. "I would not leave even a single Item in our enemies' hands, but we cannot afford to delay any longer."

"Will the ritual work with only six of the sacred Items?" Seti demanded, his fierce gaze locked on the unfortunate Shada once more. "If the Divine One," Seti shot a less-than-reverent glare at the King, pointedly omitting the customary wish for the King's long life and continued health, "is determined to forge ahead with this folly, I'll not have him throwing his life away for nothing."

"My visions have shown me that it will work," Asetnofret reminded them, stepping forward. She bowed deeply to the King. "Your Majesty."

"Lady Aset." He offered her a small, reserved smile. "Has the Necklace of a Thousand Years granted you a new vision of the future?"

"Yes, Majesty." Her return smile was enigmatic. "I have foreseen your ultimate destiny."

He raised one elegant eyebrow. "And will you not tell me what you have seen?"

She bowed her head. "I may not, Your Majesty. But I can tell you this: what you do now will save the Two Lands from certain destruction."

"My majesty thanks you…for your words and for your service."

There were tears in her eyes as she bowed a final time. "Your Majesty's courage will live forever."

Seti could feel his own eyes burning. Resolutely, he blinked the moisture away and growled, "If we are going through with this foolishness, let us get it over with."

A familiar smirk tugged at the corners of Pharaoh's mouth as he met Seti's accusing gaze with a knowing one. "Patience was never your virtue."

"Self-preservation was never _yours_," Seti shot back, his voice roughened by the unshed tears he refused to acknowledge.

"So you have always told me," Pharaoh said. His gaze swept over the assembled priests and, with a graceful gesture, he added, "Very well. Let us not keep Priest Seti waiting any longer."

Before Seti could respond to the jibe, Shada interrupted, turning to speak to the soldier, one of the temple guards, still lurking in the background. "Bring the accursed thief. We will need him for the ritual."

The guard gave a curt nod, spun on his heel and hurried from the room. He returned shortly, shoving a prisoner before him. The white-haired thief's arms were bound at a painful-looking angle behind his back. He cursed loudly as he was forced to his knees before the King.

"Silence, dung-eater!" Seti barely restrained himself from striking the defiant thief. "Show the proper respect for your betters."

The thief spat at him.

Seti glared at the gob of spittle on his sandal, at the thief, then at Shada. "Do we really need this filthy piece of refuse?"

"Somehow, the evil one has bonded with the Ring," Shada said lowly. His usually impassive features were twisted in disgust as he gazed at the kneeling prisoner. To the guard, he said, "Bind his tongue so his blasphemy may not offend the ears of the Divine One."

The sound of soft laughter surprised them all. It was choked and faintly bitter, but it was laughter…and it was coming from the King. As they watched, the guard tied a strip of cloth torn from the evil-doer's own filthy kilt tightly over the thief's mouth. Turning his back on the now-muffled thief, Pharaoh said quietly, "Fortunately, my majesty has far too much on my mind to be overly offended by the depraved utterings of a tomb robber, Shada."

"Of course, Divine One." Shada bowed slightly. At the King's nod, he directed the guard to take the struggling prisoner to one end of the rectangle of sandstone that now dominated the room. Without another word, Asetnofret and Kawab joined them, taking up their own places on each side of the stone. Shada reached for the cloth-wrapped bundle at the foot of the stone, took the Thousand Year Ring from its wrappings, and set it carefully around the subdued thief's neck.

When the King started toward the opposite end of the stone, Mahaad lunged to stop him, placing himself before the King and extending his staff to bar the way. Mahaad's rigid posture and set, almost angry expression revealed his determination not to be moved. The King closed his eyes briefly, then looked up to meet his guardian's solemn gaze.

"_Mahaad_…"

Seti could not even begin to sort out the wealth of emotions carried in that single word, the name of the magician's human self, his human soul. But whatever Mahaad--or what remained of him--read in it, it was enough.

Slowly, Mahaad lowered his staff. The angry scowl slipped from his features, an expression of utter sorrow taking its place. He knelt before the King in full obeisance, kissing the earth at the Pharaoh's feet.

"My soul will serve you forever." Mahaad's voice was scarcely a whisper, but all within the chamber heard it clearly…as they heard Mahaad's surprised intake of breath when the King bent and raised him gently to his feet.

"Forgive me," Pharaoh said softly, then banished Mahaad back to his stone tablet. It was the power of the summoner that supported the Shadow creatures in this world. Because Mahaad had fused his life-force with the spirit-creature to form the Dark Magician, it was different than most Monsters and took less of its summoner's strength to maintain. But the King would need _all_ of his considerable magical energies for the ordeal to come.

His expression stoic, Pharaoh rested his hands on the rough surface at the head of the stone, gazing down at it for a long moment before climbing onto it and arranging himself at its center. He drew a deep breath, then another…Briefly, he met Seti's gaze. He began to speak, softly at first, then with ever-increasing strength. At his first word, the Thousand Year Items began to glow. Soon, they were emitting a blinding, golden light. Raising his powerful voice to the heavens, the Pharaoh continued the spell that would destroy the invading armies, seal away the Shadows…and take his own life.

--------------------

The ritual itself passed in something of a blur, but Seti knew in his bones that he would never purge its terrible culmination from his memory. The scene had seared itself into the very fabric of his being, burning the image of the Pharaoh's last, tortured moments on earth into his mind's eye where he was sure it would haunt his dreams until his own death claimed him.

_Blood_… There was _so much_ _blood_… The stone beneath the King's body had been painted red with it. It saturated the porous rock, filling the carvings and running in scarlet rivulets to stain the faience tiles of the temple floor. Frozen by the terrible sight before him, Seti could only watch in horror as the Pharaoh's blood poured down the stone and across the floor to where he knelt, soaking Seti's kilt and turning the pleated linen red as if branding him for his crimes. He knew in his heart that he would bear that mark for the rest of his days; he would never feel clean again.

The Scepter rang loudly against the tiles as it fell from his suddenly nerveless fingers. He was only distantly aware of the faint echoes as the other Items joined it. Seti pitched forward, barely catching himself on his hands as he toppled over, his face inches from the bloodstained floor. When he gasped for breath, his mouth and nose filled with the copper stench of death and he gagged helplessly, body and mind trying desperately to reject the stark reality before him.

_I won't forget you, Majesty,_ he thought fiercely, even as he felt the magic take hold of him again. _Your name shall not be forgotten, your _ba_ shall not be homeless, your _ka_ shall not perish_--

A silent explosion, brighter than the noonday sun, lit up the chamber. Blind and trembling, Seti lost his precarious balance. He struck his head hard against the bloody side of the altar stone and all was darkness.

When he awoke, he remembered everything that had happened. Everything…

_The Pharaoh's deep voice, always so forceful, growing weaker with each word of the spell he uttered. His breathing, shallow and labored as the blood began to flow. The smell of the Pharaoh's blood, metallic and bitter, in Seti's nostrils and on his tongue. Blackness at the corners of his vision, the flickering of Shadows as the power fought its sealing, fought the Pharaoh, their struggle literally tearing him apart...To the very end, the Pharaoh gave no voice to his pain, though the words of the spell seemed to come harder, his lips trembling as he struggled to shape them. In the end, even he succumbed to the searing agony, as a part of his very soul was ripped from him and imprisoned within the Pendant, which shattered._ _His final breath carried with it a tortured scream._

In the silence that lay over the darkened temple, Seti could still hear the Pharaoh's scream echoing in his ears. He suspected it would haunt him for the rest of his days, waking or dreaming--that scream…and the copper stench of blood.

Oh, yes. He remembered everything, all too clearly.

Everything…except the dead King's name.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One

_SSDF Orbital Station 002  
__Mars orbit  
__(Approximately three thousand years later…)_

Seto Kaiba awoke with a strangled scream echoing in his mind.

Panting as if he had just run a marathon, he lay frozen as the last vestige of the dream released him from its hold. Gradually, the scarlet visions of blood--on his hands, on his clothes, everywhere he looked--retreated back into the darkness that had spawned them.

He sat up, struggled to free himself from the tangled sheets, and palmed on the bedside lamp. His heart was pounding as if it would break free of its cage of bone and fly out of his chest. Sweat beaded on his skin and plastered his hair to his forehead. He slumped back against the cool plastic of the headboard and forced himself to breathe deeply until his racing heartbeat calmed. He scrubbed one hand over his face, then shoved his trembling fingers through his sweat-matted hair, roughly combing the tangled strands off his forehead.

Third time in as many nights, and the nightmares were becoming more vivid with each repetition. He was both thankful and frustrated that the dream images dissipated upon his waking, leaving him with a vague impression of horror and blood -- and the soul-deep sense that he had lost something of great importance. That feeling continued to haunt him even after the dreams had faded, and he would spend the rest of the day feeling irritable and jumping at shadows.

With a weary groan, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, not for the first time grateful for the privacy offered him by his small, one bedroom apartment. If not for his position as an elite Duel Mech pilot, he would be stuck in bachelor officers' quarters with the rest of the unmarried pilots. There were definite perks to being one of the very small group of pilots who could form a workable gestalt with their mecha. Of course, the biggest perk was merging with his mech. _Becoming_ the Blue-Eyes White Dragon made risking his life and sanity worthwhile.

The red numbers on the digital alarm clock showed it was still two hours until his duty shift, but he stumbled to the bedroom door and padded down the short hallway to where his brother slept on the pull-out sofa. Here was another perk: his little brother, whole and safe (as safe as anyone could be in wartime), and far, far away from their father -- or what was left of him. Seto clung to the hope that Gozaburo Kaiba wasn't much of a threat to anyone anymore, except maybe in his sons' nightmares. But sometimes it was harder to make himself believe that. While it was true that Gozaburo's body was mere ashes now, it remained to be seen if the evil the man had done, like that of Caesar, lived after him.

Seto shook himself, forcing those dark thoughts to the back of his mind, where they normally lurked, by sheer willpower. In the here and now, Mokuba was curled on his side, hands fisted in the thick gray blanket clutched beneath his chin. Mokuba sighed softly as Seto smoothed the covers over Mokuba's back, then tucked the blanket more securely around the sleeping boy.

It always amazed him that Mokuba could sleep so soundly on the pull-out bed. Seto had put in a request for larger quarters, an apartment with a separate bedroom for Mokuba, but the requisition order hadn't been approved yet. Most Anchors slept in BOQ, as did most pilots; even the much-decorated 'Dark Magician,' before his recent elevation in rank, had been quartered there. But Seto had demanded, and gotten, individual quarters from the first. He preferred that no one other than his little brother be aware of the nightmares which plagued his sleep; if he could, he would have kept Mokuba in the dark about them as well. As it was, he had so far managed to avoid letting his fellow pilots --and the staff psychologist-- in on his shameful secret. And he intended to keep it that way.

Reassured that Mokuba had not been disturbed by his nightmare, Seto retreated to the bathroom where he cranked up the shower as hot and hard as it would go and stepped under the pounding water. He stood under the punishing spray until his skin was red and tingling, and he felt almost human again. Resolutely, he ignored the odor of blood lingering in his nostrils…and the scream still ringing in his ears.

Two hours later, when Mokuba wandered into the tiny kitchenette in search of breakfast, he found Seto asleep at the kitchen table, his head pillowed on his folded arms and a cold cup of coffee beside him.

"Nightmares, again, big brother?" Mokuba murmured sadly, looking down at the strained expression on his brother's face.

Even in sleep, Seto Kaiba seemed unable to relax his guard. Mokuba's frown deepened. Yet another legacy from their father. His hands clenched involuntarily into fists. He hated Gozaburo Kaiba for everything that the man had done to Seto, and for everything from which Seto had been forced to shield Mokuba. In his never-ending quest to 'make Seto strong', Gozaburo had come close to destroying him. It was something for which Mokuba would never forgive Gozaburo -- or his memory. If their uncle had not taken care of the final arrangements, the Kaiba brothers would have cheerfully dumped their father's ashes in the nearest landfill and been done with him. As it was, the memorial service had been a tense affair. In that, at least, it had differed little from every other family function Mokuba could remember attending.

Mokuba sighed and forced his suddenly tensed body to relax. Seto had managed to shield him from the worst of their father's excesses, but just the thought of Gozaburo triggered a fight or flight response Mokuba doubted he would ever outgrow. Seto's reactions were more extreme, more…disturbing. Mokuba shuddered suddenly, despite the fact that the room was quite warm. He remembered all too well Seto's last confrontation with Gozaburo. It was something he prayed daily never to witness again. A glance at the clock on the microwave informed him it was time for them to go to work. Cautiously, because waking Seto was not an action to be taken lightly even by him, he reached out to gently touch his brother's shoulder.

--------------------

From the moment he woke up from yet another nightmare, Yami had known that the day was not going to go well. Bleary-eyed from lack of restful sleep, he managed to burn his eggs, spill coffee all over his clean uniform shirt (which necessitated a hasty change before dashing out of his billet), and to nearly flatten an unlucky Valkyrie pilot in the curving hallway as he raced toward his office in the lower ring of the orbital station.

So it was only natural that the first person to demand his attention was none other than the last person he wanted to see.

"Well, well, _well_. Look what we have _here_."

The voice was cultured, aristocratic…and overflowing with an all-too-familiar contempt. Yami didn't have to look over his shoulder to know that the voice belonged to Seto Kaiba. He suppressed a groan and forced himself to ignore the glare he could feel boring into his back as he kept walking. The pilot followed, obviously determined not to give up his favorite game so easily.

"Decided to slum it down here with us lowly pilots?" Seto continued, voice coming closer as his long strides easily caught up to Yami, then swept past him. Seto halted, feet braced wide apart, hands outstretched at his sides as he towered over Yami, effectively blocking the corridor.

"What's the matter, _Major_?" Seto stressed Yami's new rank mockingly. "Too good to speak to me, now that you've moved up in the world?"

"I don't have time for this, Seto." Yami knew he sounded every bit as weary as he felt, but couldn't bring himself to care. "Did you want something or are you just trying to get a rise out of me, as usual?"

"Why, Major!" Seto feigned surprise. "Are you accusing me of insubordination?"

Yami's mouth settled into a thin white line as he tried not to rise to the bait, but someone else answered for him.

"If the shoe fits, _Captain _Kaiba--"

Neither man turned, but Seto spared the newcomer a narrow glance over one broad shoulder.

"Stay out of this, _Lieutenant_," he snapped, only the narrowing of his eyes betraying his agitation at having his Yami-baiting interrupted.

"Why don'tcha make me, you jerk?" Joey Wheeler took up a flanking position, shoulder to shoulder with Yami, as ready to be his wingman on the ground as he had been in the skies. He shot a look at his buddy that said as clearly as words 'I got your back.' Yami acknowledged it with a grateful nod.

"If that's all," Yami said, with a dismissive glance at Seto, "I have work to do."

"Oh, yes, of course! The _hero_ has to get to his _desk_ or else the world as we know it might end."

"Hey, you shut yer trap, you bastard!" Joey shot back at him, jabbing a finger into the other pilot's face. "Yami's work is important and you damn well know it."

Seto snorted. "Some of us have _real_ work to do."

"Why, you--"

"Forget it, Joey," Yami said, sparing Kaiba a cold glare, but otherwise not reacting to the jibe. "Let him get on with his 'real work'. I believe you have a patrol scheduled, Captain Kaiba?"

"Sir, yes, sir!" Seto snapped off an equally mocking salute. "Of course, you _would_ know, wouldn't you? Now that you're flying a desk, tucked in all nice and cozy at HQ, you can sit back and watch while the real pilots do the dirty work. And to think, it only took your partner's death to set you up with such a cushy job--"

The only thing stopping Yami's lunge for Seto's throat was Joey's firm grip on his upper arms. Gritting his teeth as he struggled against the wiry former-pilot's surprising strength, Joey said, "Yami, don't! He ain't worth it. And Anzu wouldn't want to see ya court-martialed for the likes of him."

Reluctantly, Yami relaxed his stance. He drew himself up, his features hardening once more into an unreadable mask. "You're right," he said, and his voice held every bit as much contempt as Seto's had. "I've better things to do with my time. Excuse me."

With that, Yami turned on his heel and, back ramrod straight, stalked off toward his office. He didn't look back.

Behind him, Joey wheeled on Seto, his fury startling the other pilot enough to make him fall back half a step. "Just what the hell do you think you're doin', Kaiba?"

"Shut up and mind your own business, Wheeler." Seto had recovered his poise, blue eyes cold as he glared down his nose at Joey. "This is between me and Yami."

"You're one cold-blooded son of a bitch, you know that? I don't know how you can live with yourself." Joey's light tenor had dropped to a guttural snarl that was almost unrecognizable as his voice.

Surprise flickered briefly across Seto's face before his usual, haughty mask settled back into place. "Have you forgotten that you're speaking to a superior officer,_ Lieutenant_?"

"There's nothing 'superior' about you, Kaiba, except maybe the size of your damn ego. How could you do that to him? Don't you know what today is?"

Seto's brows drew together in a frown as he concentrated, a minute shake of his head all the confirmation Joey needed. His righteous fury ratcheted up another notch and it was all he could do to stop his fist from knocking that oh-so-smug expression off Kaiba's face.

"I can see ya don't, you lousy asshole." Joey was practically vibrating with anger, his fists clenched at his sides. Only sheer willpower -- and the knowledge that he couldn't afford a disciplinary grounding right now -- kept him from introducing said fists to Kaiba's face. Neither, however, stopped him from shoving his face into Kaiba's until they were practically nose to nose.

"Lieutenant Anzu Mazaki, _Yami's Anchor,_" he ground out, through clenched teeth, "was killed exactly a year ago today."

Without waiting to see the effect of this revelation, Joey shoved Seto roughly aside and stormed off down the corridor after his best friend. Like Yami, he didn't look back -- and so missed the momentary flash of dismay that flickered over Seto's face. The truth was, he _hadn't_ remembered that this was the anniversary of Mazaki's death. But he shoved his unease aside and squared his shoulders. For the space of a single heartbeat, he allowed himself to close his eyes. When he opened them, the mask was back in place, and he was 'Captain Kaiba' again. The familiar smirk settled onto his lips as, shoulders back, head held high, he stalked toward the hangar bay.

He was the greatest pilot the Solar System had ever known, and he had no time for petty regrets. Unlike some, he had _real_ work to do, smashing the forces of the alien invaders and saving the worlds, instead of hiding behind the dubious safety of a desk. So why did his stomach clench at the memory of the accusation in Wheeler's voice -- and the stark grief in Yami's eyes?

--------------------

"Why do you put up with that guy, anyway?" Joey demanded, catching up with Yami at the door to Yami's office. If Joey had been in charge, Kaiba would've been busted so low he would have to salute the janitorial robots.

"In case you've forgotten, Duel Mecha pilots are at a premium and he's the best we have on active duty." Yami rolled his eyes. "And, unfortunately, he's also my cousin."

"Oh. Yeah." Joey scratched at the back of his neck, ducking his head sheepishly. In the heat of the moment, he had forgotten that particular point. He dragged his fingers through his shaggy mop of blond hair. "Guess ya can't exactly choose your family, huh? Sorry 'bout that."

Yami sighed. "You and me both."

The lights came up as Yami keyed open the door, the envirocomputer automatically adjusting the room's settings to 'work mode' now that it was occupied. Yami slumped into the cracked synth-leather chair behind his equally battered desk and watched with a dull, disinterested gaze as the work station built into the desk booted up. After a moment, he spoke again, almost to himself.

"We've never really gotten along, you know. Not even when we were kids. Our fathers were…Well, 'rivals' doesn't even begin cover it. Our family get-togethers tended to have body counts." Yami discarded that uncomfortable line of thought with a slight shake of his head and a sigh. He straightened, expression all business as he eyed Joey. "I know Seto has a patrol. And, unless I'm greatly mistaken, so do you."

"Don't remind me!" Joey switched to his patented wheedling tone. "You could change that, you know, ol' buddy ol' pal..."

Yami looked suddenly thoughtful. "Maybe Seto has a point. You _are_ getting insubordinate…"

Joey snapped to mock attention. "Sir, yes, sir! Lieutenant Joseph Wheeler reporting for duty, sir!"

Yami snorted. "You're lucky you're a Duel Mech pilot, Joey. You wouldn't survive ten minutes in the regular forces."

"Tell me somethin' I don't know. Sir." Joey smirked, relaxing back into his habitual slouch. Yami frowned at him and he grinned unrepentantly, striking a pose. "What? The regular forces don't deserve the wonder that is me."

"Well, you're half right." Yami managed a lopsided smirk of his own. "Now, get out of here. Some of us have more important things to do than irritate our superior officers."

"Yami…" Joey managed to sound both pitying and scornful. "There is _nothing_ more important than that."

Yami threw a stylus at him.

"Okay, okay! I'm goin'!"

Since Yami's grounding, Joey had been flying with Seto. It had been, in his opinion, twelve months of pure hell. But the limited number of AI-enhanced combat robots, dubbed "Duel Mecha" by their pilots because of their resemblance to the creatures in the popular card game _Duel Monsters_, made it a necessity. That didn't mean he had to like it, though.

Joey tossed off a sloppy salute as he sauntered out the door. "Catch ya later, Major. And don't worry. I'll show Captain Blue-Eyes how it's done."

"Just come back in one piece, Joey." The quiet words were spoken with all the sincerity of a prayer.

Joey nodded. "You know it, pal."

Yami nodded as well. His solemn gaze followed Joey until the pilot was out of sight.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Mars Station, in high orbit around the red planet, was a bulky, unlovely construct that resembled nothing so much as a messy array of gray metal donuts stacked one on top of the other. Below the main "stack" a couple more of the torus shaped levels hung from massive support struts: these were the massive hangar and launch bays, as well as the recovery platforms, for the station's compliment of mecha. Extending out from the rings were long docking struts, where support craft -- everything from the shuttles that ferried personnel and supplies up from the planet, to the skeletal-looking transport vessels known as Maxiframes -- could dock with and access the station.

Situated in the lowest pendant ring of the orbital station, the hangar bay was bustling with activity. Jumpsuited technicians and mechanics scurried about, readying the combat mecha for patrol duty or repairing those which had recently returned from battle. Seto ignored them all as he strode across the echoing bay, his boot heels ringing on the metal grate flooring. Instinctively, his gaze sought out his own robot, the mighty Blue-Eyes White Dragon, resting in its spot-lit gantry against the back wall of the cavernous hangar.

Like all the active duty mecha, his Dragon was in its humanoid mode, metal arms slack at its sides, great blue-white wings folded against its back. Metal-armored skin gleamed like polished silver under the sodium lights. Massive hands strong enough to rip apart an enemy mech or to wield the enormous rail gun 'holstered' inside its hollow right leg lay open on their rests. As always when confronted with this magnificent creation, Seto felt his heart swell with possessive pride. It took something special to pilot one of these extraordinary machines and Seto was one of the few to truly excel at it.

With the Dark Magician out of commission there were only three other Duel Mecha in service, with more in production. Almost against Seto's will, he found his gaze drawn to the darkened gantry at the end of the row. It was set slightly apart from the others, as if what it housed was special even among these exceptional machines. The prototype, the first of its kind -- and the only one without technicians swarming over its outer surface, probing its circuitry and testing its armaments. Purple armor so dark it almost appeared black blended seamlessly into the shadows surrounding the mech. Even quiescent in its gantry, the humanoid machine projected an air of elegant menace. Its silver face modeled in a perpetual, knowing smirk, the Dark Magician waited patiently for its pilot's return.

Seto allowed himself a self-satisfied smirk of his own. The Dark Magician was in for a long wait. Without a partner, an Anchor to prevent him from losing himself permanently in his gestalt with the machine's AI, Yami wasn't leaving his desk job anytime soon. And that meant Seto's position as the top-ranked pilot was unassailable. In the exclusive club that was the Duel Mech squadron, only his cousin had ever bested him in the skies.

Shoving thoughts of his irritating 'superior' from his mind, Seto rode the lift up the side of the gantry and hopped over the rail onto the lowered chest plastron of his Dragon. Technicians went about their tasks with well-honed precision, sealing him inside the robot. In the cockpit located inside the robot's skull, Seto stepped into the pilot's sling and felt it take his weight, giving him a sensation of weightlessness as he strapped on his helmet and pulled on sensor-laden gloves that fit snugly over his hands like a second skin.

He left the comm off as he stretched out his arms and legs and let the mech's sensors, wide silvery ribbons, slither up his hands and arms beneath his sleeves. He shivered at the cool touch of the sensor ribbon, chilly metal and plastic settling snugly against him as if drawn by the warmth of his body. From behind him more sensor ribbons slipped around his torso in a tight embrace, sliding through special slits in his jumpsuit to contact bare skin. One slipped down the back of his neck, nestling into place along his spine, its flat tip centered just over his coccyx. More tendrils wrapped themselves lovingly around his legs at thigh, knee, calf, and ankle. On his feet the straps over his boots, and the soles of the snug-fitting boots themselves, contained sensors of their own.

Now wired into the mech's control system, Seto took a deep breath, centering himself in preparation for the final connection -- mind-to-mind with the machine's artificial intelligence. The contacts inside the helmet pressed against receivers implanted beneath his skin, allowing him access to the computer…and allowing it access to his consciousness. As he had stretched out his limbs, now he stretched out his thoughts, represented on the display before him by a glowing blue ribbon of light, twisting along a virtual reality tunnel until his mind connected with that of the mech's artificial intelligence.

The AI's 'mind' was a similar, shining ribbon, this one as white and cold as arctic ice. As the two ribbons met, they wound around one another, creating a new ribbon that shimmered blue-white in the surrounding shadows. The light of the combined ribbons flared, turning everything in Seto's mind to a blinding, incandescent white as bright as a Blue-Eyes' Neutron Blast... And then he _was_ the Dragon and the Dragon was him and _they _were one.

The lights on the console flashed green as a flat mechanical voice stated, "TEM engaged. Human/AI interface complete. Gestalt achieved. All systems at full power. Control transfer complete in five…four…three…two…one. Transfer complete."

The Blue-Eyes turned his head, settling into the mechanical body that was as familiar as the flesh he had been born to, and flexed massive durasteel hands. He opened his eyes, seeing the world in spectra far beyond merely human sight. As always, he reveled in the sensation of power coursing through his body, raw firepower and awesome physical might his to command with a thought. If the mech's silvery, durasteel face had been capable of expression, he would have grinned with a grim kind of glee, as he clenched one giant fist and felt the gantry rock as the launch cradle engaged.

From his seat in the space station's control center, his Anchor called over the pilots' channel, "You ready, big brother?"

The Blue-Eyes almost winced at the eagerness in Mokuba Kaiba's voice. If he concentrated, he could feel the bio-pulses of his Anchor: the rapid heartbeat pounding against the sensor on Mokuba's chest, the warmth of living tissue cradled in cold plastic and aluminum, the minute fidgeting of Mokuba's limbs as if he literally itched for battle. For a second, he wanted nothing more than to order Seto Kaiba's little brother to disengage from their link and go back to Domino City, where there was at least the illusion of safety. Instead, he toggled the mike and responded sternly, "That's _Captain_, Lieutenant Kaiba."

"Oops. Sorry, big bro-- Uh, Captain. Sir."

"What's our system status?" the Blue-Eyes asked, choosing to ignore the slip this time. Though he could see the status perfectly well on his head-up display, he needed to get his Anchor focused on the job at hand. This might be nothing but a 'routine' patrol, but in their line of work, it was never a good idea to let your guard down for even a moment. Of course, that was his motto off-duty as well, but the Blue-Eyes didn't let himself dwell on such trivialities.

"All systems green, sir!" came the crisp response.

Satisfied, the Blue-Eyes White Dragon activated the comm channel that would connect him to flight operations. "Control, Blue-Eyes. Ready when you are."

"Roger, Blue-Eyes," came the response. "Prepare for transfer."

"Roger."

Metal clanged against metal as the gantry lurched into motion. A few moments later, the mech had made the transfer from hangar to launch tube. The head-up display showed him when the transfer was complete, even as he felt the docking clamps release his feet and the grip of the catapult take their place. His body trembled with the force of his booster rockets igniting beneath him. Another screen inside the first showed him the Red-Eyes Black Dragon crouched in its own tube, powering up for launch.

"Blue-Eyes on deck."

"Red-Eyes on deck."

"Roger. Blue-Eyes, you are cleared for launch."

_Time to go to work._

"Launching." The word was barely out of his mouth before the powerful combined thrust of the catapult and his rockets sent him blasting out of the launch tube and into the airless void of space. A second behind him, the Red-Eyes followed.

------------------

Yami stared at the report he was composing on his work station screen. The new remote interface for the Duel Mecha was ready for field testing as soon as General Anderson signed off on it. Then all that remained would be convincing the pilots to actually use it. His mouth quirked. Only one of the pilots would be a real problem. And his name was Seto.

Of its own volition, Yami's hand reached out to brush the prototype remote on the desk in front of him. About a third the size of his palm, the device was flat and thin, and painted a dark metallic purple along the outer edges. The center was silver. It looked, in fact, a lot like a miniature version of the face of the Dark Magician mech. Almost reluctantly, he picked up the remote and held it in his hand as he studied it. Even in miniature form, the Magician's eyes seemed to accuse him.

Yami shook himself. _Stop being foolish and get back to work_, he thought sourly. He yanked open a desk drawer, intending to stow the remote interface device out of sight. But something made him hesitate. He wavered uncertainly for a moment, then tucked the device into his pocket and turned resolutely back to his report.

The text blurred into meaninglessness and, after another minute, he closed the file. A few quick commands brought up a different screen, this one tapping directly into the feed from the Duel Mecha control center. Within the control center, the support techs and Anchors for the pilots were in constant contact with the giant robots as they patrolled the inner reaches of the Solar System.

Another command focused his screen on the Blue-Eyes White Dragon. As always, Seto had integrated seamlessly with his mech. That deep gestalt was what made him such a formidable pilot. It was also the reason his bond with his Anchor was so crucial; without Mokuba, there would be no way for Seto to untangle his human mind from the AI at the end of the mission. As with all the Anchors, Mokuba was there to help pull his pilot's consciousness back from its meld with the machine, to be the anchor to his pilot's humanity.

Thinking of Mokuba brought to mind Yami's own lost Anchor. In truth, Anzu was never far from his thoughts these days. In the beginning, he had been too numb with grief and too preoccupied with the slow healing of his body to give much thought to anything else. From a portable vid receiver Joey had smuggled into the base hospital on Mars, Yami watched without real interest as the mechanics and cybernicians worked around the clock to bring the Dark Magician back to life. When he returned to duty six weeks later, he had visited the hangar bay--once. The partially-rebuilt Dark Magician seemed to stare down at him with blank, accusing eyes, as if it knew he had abandoned it. Yami had not been back to the mecha hangar since, not even to witness first hand the design innovations he had helped create since his reassignment to research and development.

And then the dreams had started.

Bad enough to relive his last battle, to awaken with the stench of burning circuitry and melting rubber in his nostrils, and the taste of ozone and blood on his tongue. But now he must also endure the gaze of the Dark Magician (with the bizarre logic of dreams, the Magician was flesh rather than metal), bitter with anger and disappointment. Then the Magician's eyes would morph into Anzu's--equally disappointed, equally accusing. He would wake with his heart hammering in his chest, his body covered in cold sweat, and the feel of her blood on his hands. Sleep had become the enemy as surely as the aliens

invading the Solar System; each time he closed his eyes, Anzu was there. He blamed himself for her death…and, deep inside, he knew that _she_ did, too. That was when he knew. He would never again be able to face the Dark Magician without shame. He would never accept another as his Anchor.

He would never pilot a Duel Mech, again.

Command had not been pleased, but the staff psychologist agreed with Yami. In his current state, he was incapable of forming the necessary bond with a new Anchor and without an Anchor, he was grounded. Yami pushed to be reassigned to a regular force-suit unit where he could pilot one of the non-enhanced mecha that made up the bulk

of the space force. Command refused. Yami's father pushed for him to take the honorable discharge he had earned and return to Earth to take his proper place as heir-apparent to the family's corporate empire. Yami refused. Eventually, he was reassigned to his current position in mech support where, as Seto liked to remind him, he flew nothing but a desk.

And there he had sat for what felt like an eternity. Brooding, according to Joey. 'Slacking off,' if one listened to Seto. In Yami's opinion, he was slowly losing his mind. The dreams were getting steadily worse, more vivid and bizarre with each repetition. And a new element had been added: in addition to Anzu's demise, he had begun to witness his _own_ death, though the details were still hazy. All he really knew was that there was blood, _his_ blood, and lots of it. And pain. He always awoke with the conviction he should be screaming in agony as his body tore itself apart. He was sure the dreams were tearing his _mind_ apart. Why else would the shadows have begun whispering to him?

With a ragged sigh, he dropped his head into his hands. He didn't know how much longer he could go on like this. He was tired all the time from lack of sleep and he was having trouble concentrating on his work. His commanding officer had already sent him for another psych evaluation. The report wasn't back yet, but Yami had a feeling it would recommend something he wasn't going to like. He was starting to wonder if he should just give in to his father's demands and return to Earth. It would make his mother happy, at least.

A signal tone from the work station dragged his attention back to the present. The patrol was in trouble. On the screen, one of the Duel Mecha silhouettes flashed red, indicating catastrophic systems damage. Yami sat up and pulled the monitor closer, fingers dancing nimbly across the controls as he brought up the telemetry on a separate screen. The mech in trouble was the Blue-Eyes White Dragon.

Yami's free hand scrabbled across his desk, seeking the head-set he had tossed onto it at the end of the duty-cycle the day before. Finding the head-set, he put it on one-handed, then keyed up the comm system. A second later, Mokuba's frantic voice was shouting in his ear. Yami winced and turned down the volume.

"…brother! Do you read me? _Big brother_?"

Mokuba still hadn't gotten the hang of military discipline. Fortunately for him, the Solar System Defense Force tended toward leniency where its Duel Mecha pilots and their Anchors were concerned. There was a reason there were only three active Duel Mecha teams in the service and it wasn't because recruitment was down. Suitable pilot candidates were difficult to come by; those who could pass the exacting training were even rarer. The SSDF did what it could to keep its valuable Duel Mecha teams happy.

There was no response from the Blue-Eyes beyond a burst of static on the channel. Yami could hear Mokuba becoming even more frantic and quickly switched on his mike.

"Mokuba? Listen to me," Yami said, in the most soothing voice he could muster. "Slow down and remember your training. Seto needs you to be calm, now."

"Yami? Is that you?" Mokuba sounded as if he were struggling to hold back tears. _"Yami?"_

"Yes, it's me, little cousin." Yami and Seto might be bitter rivals, but fortunately that enmity had never extended to Seto's little brother. "Listen, it's going to be all right."

"But…Seto…"

"Look at the telemetry, Mokuba. He's alive. His comm system is damaged. That's why he isn't answering. He can still feel you, though. The biofeedback is still transmitting. You need to slow your heart rate and breathing. Do you remember how?"

"Yeah…Uh, I mean, yes, sir."

Over the comm, he heard Mokuba take a deep breath, then another, and let it out in a long, slow sigh. On the screen, the frantic dancing of his heartbeat began to slow to a steadier pace. Yami forced his voice to remain soothing and even. "That's good, little cousin. Just like that. You're doing great."

"Thanks, Yami…I mean, sir." Mokuba's voice sounded very small…and younger than his years. Not for the first time, Yami cursed the invaders. Mokuba should be thinking about getting a date with a pretty girl, not worrying whether or not his big brother was still alive.

"Hang in there, little cousin," Yami said, putting all the reassurance and encouragement he could into his voice. "You're doing fine. And don't worry, we'll get him home safely."

"Yes, sir!"

On the screen, parts of the mech's silhouette had cooled to blue, indicating that the machine's self-repair system was functioning. Yami felt a small bit of the knot into which his stomach had twisted itself begin to relax. Radio chatter confirmed what he was seeing: the Blue-Eyes was badly damaged, but largely intact and the remaining Duel Mecha had the surviving invaders on the run. A voice reported that an R-mech retrieval unit had been dispatched to pick up the damaged mech and return it to base. Harpy Lady was requesting permission to pursue the stragglers when Yami switched the comm back to Mokuba.

"Your big brother is okay, Mokuba," he said softly into the mike. "The recovery team is bringing him in."

"I'll be waiting for him," Mokuba said brightly. He had regained most of his equilibrium; the biofeedback lines were all well within tolerance, now. "…I couldn't have done it without you, Yami."

"Sure you could, kiddo," Yami said. "I'm proud of you. Seto will be, too."

"You really think so, sir?"

"I know so."

They both heard the recovery crew announcing they had acquired the Blue-Eyes. Mokuba gave a little cheer. "Gotta go, Yami. Big brother needs me!"

Yami's mouth curved in a tiny smile as he removed his head-set, then ran his fingers through his unruly hair. At least one thing had gone right, today. And, today of all days, he would take his victories where he could find them.

Thirty minutes later, he was summoned to General Anderson's office…and the bottom dropped completely out of Yami's world.

--------------------

To his dismay, Joey found himself sharing the lift up from the mecha recovery platform with a pissed-off Captain Kaiba. While he was relieved to see that Kaiba was unhurt, Joey would have preferred the company of the ever lovely Harpy Lady to the always ill-tempered Blue-Eyes. Kaiba seemed too absorbed in his own dark thoughts to spare so much as a glance for his wingman as they waited for the lift to carry them up through the hangar bay and on to the executive level where their debriefing would be conducted and after-action reports filed.

Never one to leave well enough alone, Joey didn't even try to resist the urge to tweak Kaiba's ego. "You're welcome," he said, just as the lift reached their destination.

Halfway through the opening doors, Seto shot him a narrow look. "What?"

"I said 'you're welcome'," Joey said. "I'd've thought someone with a fancy upbringing like yours would have better manners, Kaiba. Guess I was mistaken."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Seto snapped impatiently. He stepped clear of the lift, not looking back to see if Joey followed him. Naturally, Joey did.

"Well, I did save your sorry ass out there," Joey reminded him, blithely striding along beside the irritated captain. "Thought that might be worth at least a 'thanks'. Even from you."

Seto glared at him, increased the length of his stride, and vanished around a bend in the corridor. Joey snorted to himself and muttered, "Goes to show what _I_ know, don't it?"

Dismissing the Blue-Eyes, Joey found his thoughts turning to food. As always when returning from a successful mission -- and, if he were honest, most of the rest of the time, too -- Joey was in the mood for a meal. And not just a microwaved burger or a bowl of instant ramen; he wanted a feast. So, as quickly as he could after the debriefing, he planned to find Yami, drag his friend out of his stuffy office and then planetside to one of Domino City's finer fast food joints. Heck, he'd even pop for Burger World. Or that Moroccan place Yami was so fond of. Whatever it took to get Yami away from the station for a little while. Deep in thought, Joey didn't notice the other pilot until she reached out and waved a perfectly manicured hand in front of his eyes.

"You in there, Joey?"

"Oh." He blinked at her. Even in her regulation flight suit and with her long blonde hair coiled in a tight chignon to fit under her helmet, there was no mistaking Mai Valentine. "Hey, Mai."

Mai frowned. "Jeez, Wheeler. I've heard more enthusiastic greetings from the enemy. Or Captain Blue-Eyes, even."

"Don't speak of the devil, Mai. I've had enough of him for one day."

"What's he done this time?"

"Whatcha think? Bein' a jerk, shootin' his mouth off at Yami. The usual."

"_Today?_ What, Captain Blue-Eyes has a death wish, now?" She frowned. On her, Joey thought even that looked good. "Maybe I should've let that alien mech finish him off, after all."

Joey smiled briefly. "And leave me high and dry, too? Don't you love me anymore, Mai?"

She slapped his arm lightly. "I _tolerate_ you, Joseph. There's a difference."

With a hint of a grin in the eyes peeping out from beneath his too-long bangs, Joey shook his head in mock sorrow. "Still in denial…"

"Speaking of idiots--" Mai waited for the insult to register, then rushed on before he could think of a comeback. "You said Blue-Eyes had another run-in with Yami?"

"Shyeah." Joey snorted derisively. "Can you believe it? Mouthin' off like… That jerk didn't even remember what today _was_ 'til I told him." Joey growled, shook his head. "Beats me how that guy and his ego both fit into a cockpit at the same time."

"Nothing wrong with a healthy ego, hon." Mai laughed, jokingly buffing her nails on the front of her flight suit. "Though our Blue-Eyes does take it to extremes. So…What did Yami do?"

"Nothing. Oh, you could tell he wanted to clean Kaiba's clock, but you know Yami. Always in control. He told Kaiba to get his ass out on patrol, then went to work himself." He shook his head, again. "Don't know how he does it."

"Impulse control is a _good_ thing, Joey. You should look into it sometime." Mai's eyes twinkled with barely suppressed mirth as she took the easy shot at him, then she sobered. "Poor Yami. Our Blue-Eyed boy is always tightly wound, but Yami…" She shook her head, sobering. "I'm worried about our Dark Magician."

Joey looked at her in surprise. "You are?"

"_Joseph Albert Wheeler!_" She gave a little huff of exasperation. "You said it yourself. Yami is Mr. Control. One of these days that iron control is going to snap."

"What're you talkin' about?"

Ignoring the question, Mai said, "We lost another force-suit unit in that ambush out past Saturn, yesterday. Word on the grapevine is there may be an infiltrator in the SSDF."

"_Shit_."

"Yeah."

They stood in silence for a moment before Joey spoke, again. "Look…" Joey stared at her from beneath his tangle of bangs. "What'd you mean about Yami snapping?"

"My civilian contacts tell me his father is agitating to get Yami to take his 'rightful place' at his side and, from what I hear, what Mr. Kaiba wants, Mr. Kaiba gets. We all know Yami's got a sense of duty as big as the Blue-Eyes' ego, but he's resisted so far. He's always felt serving in the Defense Force was more important. Now that he's grounded, though…Who knows what he'll do?"

Joey whistled. "No wonder ol' Captain Blue-Eyes has got a bug up his butt. He thinks _he_ oughta be the next one runnin' Kaiba Corp and he never lets Yami forget it, either."

"Well, up until about three months ago, Seto Kaiba's father _was_ Kaiba Corp's CEO." She cocked a cynical eyebrow. "Gozaburo Kaiba's death is all over the news. They still haven't ruled it a suicide. In fact, it looks a lot like foul play. Murder in the executive suite."

"Wouldn't surprise me if Kaiba shoved his old man out that office window himself." Joey snorted derisively, then shook his head. "_Damn_. Sometimes I'm really glad to be a poor boy from Brooklyn. Rich people are seriously fucked up."

They shared a laugh. Then Joey sobered. "You know, Yami still blames himself for Anzu's death."

"Like that's a newsflash, hon." Mai looked sympathetic. "He didn't just lose his partner, he lost his fiancée. We've all seen how hard he took her death."

"And his family won't even give him time to grieve! His dad's determined Yami should marry a 'traditional Japanese girl' and as soon as possible. He told me his father even arranged for him to meet with a matchmaker last month. They haven't spoken since. I'd've told the old man where to stick it, but Yami just bottles it up."

"'Mr. Control,' remember?" Mai frowned. "I just hope nothing else happens. It could send

him right over the edge." She made a diving motion with one hand.

"Yeah," Joey agreed, gazing thoughtfully at the floor. Abruptly, he straightened. "Sorry, Mai, I gotta bail. I'm thinkin' maybe our favorite Dark Magician shouldn't be alone right now."

"I think you're right," she said. "Today of all days, Yami needs a break."

--------------------

What Yami _didn't_ need, as he left General Anderson's office with a preoccupied frown on his face, was a literal run-in with Seto Kaiba. But that was what he got, as the two of them collided with enough force to knock Yami off his feet. Dazed, he looked up to find his cousin's familiar glare burning down at him.

"What's the matter, Yami?" Seto sneered. "Do you miss your desk so much you have to run back to it?"

As Yami picked himself up off the floor, he felt the familiar anger writhing at his control, struggling to get out. This time he let it.

"I don't _have_ a desk." It came out as a growl, his voice rising with every word. "I don't have an office. And I _don't_ have to put up with _you_."

Without warning, he lunged at Seto. The attack caught his cousin off-guard and the two of them crashed into the wall, Yami's hands fisted in the fabric of Seto's flightsuit. Despite Seto's height advantage, Yami had the upper hand and he used it to slam his cousin back into the wall, hard. Eyes narrowed, he snarled, "You think you're better than me, Seto? When have you ever beaten me at anything?"

"_My_ Anchor is still alive."

All the color drained from Yami's face. A red haze washed over everything and, in the brightly-lit confines of the corridor, shadows suddenly danced at the edges of his vision. He drew back his fist. "You _bastard_--"

Something slammed into him just as fist connected with flesh, knocking Yami back into the opposite wall. He growled, teeth bared, long fingers curling into claws, barely even aware of the form which blocked him when he would have gone for Seto's throat.

"Yami!" It took him a second to understand the word as his name, to recognize the worried voice as Joey's. "Don't do this!"

"_I'll kill him_."

Somehow, the fact that he didn't shout it made Yami's pronouncement all the more frightening. Even Seto backed up a step before he caught himself. Joey tightened his grip on his friend. "Listen to yourself, Yami! You don't mean that, you know you don't. I know he's an asshole, but he ain't worth doin' time."

"It doesn't matter…" Yami slumped against Joey's arms, the fight drained out of him with a suddenness that was shocking. "Nothing matters."

"Don't say that--"

Seto interrupted. "Assaulting a fellow officer, Yami?" There was a strangely satisfied note in his voice that made Joey want to finish what Yami had started. "I want you to know that I fully intend to press charges."

Yami's laugh surprised them all. It was just one short, bitter bark of laughter, quickly stifled. He straightened and directed a look at Seto that wiped the smirk off his face. "You can't. I'm not an officer."

"What?" Seto demanded. He sounded as if he thought this was something Yami had arranged just to annoy him.

"Yami? What are you talkin' about?" Joey just sounded confused.

"I've been…" Yami hesitated, then shook his head. He gave another strangled laugh. He pushed away from Joey and backed away, still shaking his head. "I'm just a civilian. And I'm not wanted around here."

"Wait! Yami, I--"

"Just leave me alone, Joey," Yami said. He turned and strode toward the nearby bank of elevators where an armed MP waited to escort him off the station. "I just want everyone to leave me alone."

"_Coward_."

That was Seto. Yami's shoulders tensed and he hesitated. Then he forced himself to keep walking, to let Seto have the last word. What did it matter if his cousin thought him a coward, a traitor? Soon, Yami knew, Seto wouldn't be the only one. With a sinking heart and a thousand confusing thoughts echoing in his head, Yami got onto the elevator. He never even noticed the skin around Joey's eye starting to purple… or the dark calculation in Seto's eyes.

--------------------

The pilot debriefing had taken longer than usual and, for Seto, had been followed by a thorough examination in Medical. Under his piercing stare, the doctor had hastened things along, declaring Seto fit to fly as soon as he passed the integration test with his mech. That, Seto knew, would have to await the completion of the repairs which had begun the instant the recovery crew had towed the mech back to the station. Several of Blue-Eyes' critical systems had been badly damaged in the battle. Even with crews working around the clock, it would be many more hours, if not days, before the Blue-Eyes was back in full fighting trim. In the interim, Seto would be relegated to desk duty.

With that unhappy fact foremost in his thoughts, Seto made his way down several levels from the medical ring to the echoing maintenance hangar where the Duel Mecha rested between patrols. He had no real business there; he simply needed to see with his own eyes that his Dragon was being well-cared for. When the lift doors opened, he stepped out into the floodlit chamber and paused, drinking in the sight of his shining Dragon across the way.

All around him, the hangar bay rang with the clatter of metal on metal and the thrum of heavy machinery. Human voices overlapped with mechanical, providing a steady background accompaniment to the squeal of rubber tires on steel flooring, the buzz of power tools, the hiss of pneumatics and the hum of servos. He stood for a moment longer and let the noise and the heavy smells of machinery, lubricating oils and fuels wash over him. But he had eyes only for his mech. As he watched, technicians swarmed over its outer hull, working their techno-magic to bring Blue-Eyes back to him. Though it was almost painful to see his Dragon in such a state, at the same time he drew comfort from being here, watching it come back to life. Outside of his cockpit, this was the one place Seto felt most at home -- here, near his Blue-Eyes. Not even Mokuba could give him the sense of peace Seto achieved when he was one with his mech.

So distracted was he by his reverie that Seto wasn't aware of the technicians working around him as anything more than part of the background. Until, that is, one of them spoke to him.

"Captain Kaiba, a moment of your time."

Seto turned to see one of the mech technicians trying to get his attention. The woman almost ran the last few steps up to him when he paused impatiently.

"What is it? I'm busy," Seto stated. His flat tone and expressionless face did nothing to encourage idle chatter. If the tech had something of import to say, he would listen. But he would not tolerate time-wasting small talk and everyone who worked in the mech bay knew it. He doubted the tech would have dared to approach him about some minor hold-up in the repairs, but he could not imagine what the problem might be.

"It's the Blue-Eyes," the tech began, hesitantly. She was clutching an oversized datalink to her chest, as if using the portable computer as a shield, and hugged it closer as she spoke.

"The status board shows that repairs are progressing on schedule. Unless incorrect information was entered into the system, that's all I need to know."

She shook her head. "The repairs to the armor are nearly complete, and there's a team working exclusively on the electronics. From a purely mechanical stand-point, Blue-Eyes could be up and running in another twenty-four hours. However, I'm afraid that your mech's AI doesn't trust you as much as it did before."

Seto stared down at the obviously insane tech. Blue-Eyes -- trusting him? He resisted the urge to throw back his head and laugh at the absurdity of her statement. If he hadn't known that Yami had left the station (and under guard, no less), he would have thought it a joke instigated by his cousin simply to annoy him.

Seeing the doubt that flashed immediately into his eyes, the tech changed her tactics.

"Fine. Think I'm crazy all you want, Captain Kaiba," she began. "But if your gestalt slips or, heaven forbid, breaks apart completely because the AI balks when you want to send Blue-Eyes into a difficult battle, or perform one of your brilliant but reckless maneuvers, don't expect my team to reassemble the pieces again. That would be a mech catastrophe that would make what happened to Dark Magician look like a minor malfunction!"

Glaring into Seto's eyes for a moment longer, the tech turned on her heel and strode angrily back across the hangar bay.

_Daft woman_, Seto thought to himself as he continued on his way. Just before she turned, he thought he'd seen tears. He shook his head. Must be his day for imagining things. But he couldn't stop himself from giving the Blue-Eyes White Dragon a last, lingering look as he turned back to the elevator. _The Blue-Eyes…trusting him? Could it be…?_


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

_Domino City  
__Arcadia Planitia  
__Kaiba Corporation Colony, Mars _

The rain was just becoming a nuisance when Yugi Mutou finally pedaled his laden cart onto Kame Street. The narrow avenue was almost deserted, most of the late shoppers having opted to get off the streets before the storm fully hit. He was almost home and he let himself be pleasantly distracted by thoughts of the warm, dry clothes and hot cup of tea waiting for him when he got there. It had been a productive day and he was happy, if tired. He had pedaled all over Domino City, running errands and visiting his favorite haunts, including several thrift stores where he had sorted through mountains of second-hand items searching for hidden treasure: vintage games, both to add to his own humble collection and for re-sale in his family's shop.

He had no doubt that his grandpa would be pleased with the day's finds. Today's scavenging had yielded a working, antique video-game system, a plastic shoebox of Capsule Monster game pieces, and a sack full of old board games. Yugi was most excited about the latter, though, in truth, there was little call for non-electronic games among the shop's regular customers. An anticipatory grin quirked the corners of his mouth as he daydreamed about settling onto the sofa in the cozy apartment above the shop with his latest finds. Just a little further and he would be at the corner where his family's game shop had resided for the last forty-odd years.

Yugi's grandfather had been one of the first to settle in Domino City and, as such, had gotten a prime location. After a lifetime as a roving gambler, the notion of colonizing a distant planet had appealed to the romantic side of Solomon Mutou's nature. Yugi loved to hear his grandpa's tales of his adventures, though he suspected the elder Mutou embellished the facts shamelessly. After all, how exciting could it have been, settling on a planet already terraformed and tamed for over fifty years before Solomon's arrival? Yugi's grin widened. His grandpa was, frankly, an old reprobate -- but Yugi wouldn't have him any other way.

He was snapped back to reality by the roar of an approaching engine. Looking up, he was almost blinded by a single headlight and realized with a shock that the motorcycle was headed straight for him. In a panic, he yanked the handlebars, turning his pedal-cart to the side--too late, as the motorcycle slammed into him, sending both him and the bike's rider flying.

He hit the pavement with a bone-jarring thud and lay there, stunned and unable to move, as the pain coursed through him. Barely aware of the rain striking his face and soaking his hair, he stared blankly up at a dizzily spinning sky. For a moment, he felt as if he were falling up, into the mass of steel-gray clouds reflecting the city's lights. Then his stomach lurched, threatening to forcibly expel everything he'd ever eaten in his life, and he rolled painfully onto his side as bile filled his throat. He tried to clamp a hand over his mouth, only to fail miserably when the incautious movement sent a fresh shockwave of pain stabbing through his body and he lost the battle with his rebellious gut.

By the time his stomach had emptied itself, his head had cleared a little. He sat up, bracing himself against the side of his overturned cart, and waited for the latest wave of dizziness to pass. He clutched at his throbbing head, only then noticing the raw, red scrape covering the palm of one hand. From the tips of his wild head of hair to the ends of his toes, everything _ached_ --

Nearby, a deep voice cursed.

Suddenly reminded of the other driver, Yugi turned his head quickly toward the sound. Too quickly, as it turned out, as another bout of vertigo threatened to pitch him face-first back onto the pavement and his stomach decided it was up for another round of 'let's see what Yugi ate, today.'

_Oh, crap_, he thought as he toppled over onto his side, retching miserably and half-wishing the crash had actually killed him. Death had to feel better than this…

Distantly, he was aware of that same deep voice asking him an urgent-sounding question, but he couldn't quite make out the words. And then there was nothing but the comfort of darkness.

--------------------

Yami groaned. He sat up gingerly, feeling the sharp ache of abused muscle and bone in every part of his body. His Nevlar-coated helmet and jacket had done their jobs and protected him, but he had still felt every inch of the impact. He didn't think anything was broken, but he knew he would be bruised all over come morning and his jeans were a lost cause. The right side of his jeans were white where the denim had scraped along the pavement, tattered threads all that were holding the fabric together now.

The sound of someone retching interrupted his self-absorbed thoughts. Reminded of the other driver he had collided with, Yami shucked off his helmet and rose shakily to his feet to assess the damage.

Nearby, an overturned pedal-cart lay on its side, the wire basket of the wagon twisted out of shape and its contents scattered all over the wet roadway. Beside the cart, its driver hunched as he emptied his stomach onto the blacktop. Blood trickled down his face from beneath messy blond bangs. More blood stained the hand he had braced himself with and one leg of his jeans was torn, revealing a long red scrape on his pale calf. He was wearing only one sneaker, the other having been knocked off in the crash. He looked miserable and barely conscious.

Yami cursed himself for a fool. What had he been thinking, acting so recklessly? He shivered as the truth hit him. He hadn't been thinking, not at all. He hadn't _wanted_ to think, and he had counted on the combination of alcohol and unfettered speed to make sure he didn't have to. Fortunately, he hadn't been going as fast as he had wanted to. The narrow street and wet pavement had forced him to ease off on the accelerator. It had probably saved his life…and kept him from becoming an unwitting murderer.

_Seto's right_, he spat at himself. _You _are_ a coward. And because of you, an innocent person has been hurt--could've been killed! So stop feeling sorry for yourself and do something about it._

Standing hurt. Walking hurt _more_. Muttering a heartfelt curse (and trying to ignore his body's insistence that lying back down would be a _good_ thing), he staggered toward the injured boy. Even as Yami moved, the boy's head turned toward him and he found himself staring into a dazed pair of wide, unfocused eyes so blue they almost appeared violet. Something inside him caught painfully and, for a second, he found it hard to breathe. Then those incredible eyes slid closed as their owner toppled sideways, retching violently.

"Are you all right?" Yami asked urgently, dropping to his knees at the boy's side.

There was no response; the kid's eyes had drifted shut, again. Swiftly, Yami felt for a pulse. His relief when he found one was almost enough to make him faint himself.

He stripped off his jacket and used it to shield the kid from the rain. The boy needed medical attention, but Yami was afraid to risk moving him--and neither his bike nor the kid's pedal-cart was in any shape to transport them, anyway.

Yami fumbled his phone from his pocket…and stared at the device in dismay. He had survived the crash in one piece; the phone hadn't been as lucky. He shoved the useless device back into his pocket and turned back to the injured boy. His head throbbing in time with his heartbeat, Yami wondered just what the hell he was going to do now.

--------------------

Waking up was like finding himself at the bottom of a deep pool of gray water. Sound came at him in waves, muffled and distant, and as he blinked his eyes open, everything seemed blurred and uncertain. A mass of indistinct colors loomed over him and Yugi flinched, squinting to try and bring the shapes into focus. When he did, he wondered just how hard he had hit his head: the person peering down at him looked like a funhouse reflection of himself. This wasn't how out of body experiences were supposed to work, was it? Shouldn't he be staring down at his body, instead of having it staring down at him?

"_Wha--?_" Yugi struggled to sit up, only to be pushed gently back down onto the pavement.

"Easy. Don't try to move, yet."

His doppelganger's voice was deep and oddly soothing. Yugi found himself instinctively obeying it. He let himself relax beneath the other's hands and was rewarded with a tiny smile and more of that wonderful voice.

"That's right, just lie still. You hit your head and were unconscious for a few seconds. I'm afraid you may have a concussion."

Well, that would explain the headache…and the disconcerting tendency of the surroundings to take swoops in perspective whenever he moved his head even the slightest bit. Yugi squinted blearily up at his duplicate.

"You…" Yugi had to stop and dredge up enough saliva to wet his lips before continuing slowly. "You're not…another me… Are you?"

A soft chuckle, amusement mingled with relief. "No. Though we do seem to have the same barber."

Without really meaning to, Yugi found that he had lifted one hand to touch the other's golden bangs, so like his own. They were damp from the rain and the strands clung to his fingertips like wet silk. He stared at them, strangely fascinated… The sound of the other's indrawn breath made him realize what he was doing, and Yugi quickly drew back his hand, a faint blush staining his cheeks. What had gotten into him? Maybe he had hit his head harder than he had realized.

"I think maybe I can sit up now," he said, avoiding his duplicate's gaze. A warm hand against his back helped ease him upright. Yugi's dismayed gaze fell on the scattered contents of his cart and he promptly forgot about his vertigo. "Oh, no! My _games_--"

"I'm sorry," his companion said, sounding as if he meant it. "I don't think…_all_ of them are ruined."

"_Ruined?!_" Forgetting his injuries, Yugi scrambled up and limped over to his cart. Plastic game pieces and thin pasteboard playing cards were scattered everywhere on the wet street. The plastic would survive, but the cardboard was steadily soaking up the rain. Yugi's face fell. _Ruined_…

A hand came to rest gently on his shoulder, then was just as quickly withdrawn. "I'm sorry. I…I'll pay to replace them."

Yugi shook his head and sighed. "It was an accident. It's not your fault."

"It _was_, actually…"

Surprised by the guilt in the other's voice, Yugi looked up at him. The stranger's dark eyes were narrowed, his gaze turned inward. Without quite knowing why, Yugi felt his heart go out to him and shook off his own melancholy. "Okay, then. I forgive you."

The stranger stared at him. "…What?"

"If it's your fault…I forgive you." Yugi bent to retrieve a Capsule Monster figure that had managed to escape the crash with only minor scratches. He frowned at it briefly, then limped a few steps to pick up a soggy instruction pamphlet from one of the board games.

"You do?" The man sounded as if he hadn't expected it to be that easy. "Just like that?"

"Uh-huh." Yugi shrugged, then smiled. "Let me get this cleaned up, then I'll offer you a cup of hot tea. I live just up the street."

Beside him the stranger hesitated, then grabbed the plastic shoebox and began gathering game pieces to drop into it. Together, they worked in silence until they had cleared the street of debris. When they were done, Yugi brushed his dripping bangs out of his eyes and peered up at the taller man. "Thanks. You ready for that tea? I'm Yugi, by the way."

There was a long, frozen moment of silence. Then, "Yami."

For a second, Yugi was puzzled by the seeming non sequitur. Then he realized the stranger was telling him his name and he smiled. "Nice to meet you, Yami."

Yami frowned at him, as if trying to decide whether or not Yugi was being sincere. Finally, he nodded.

Yugi went to take the handlebars of the now righted pedal-cart, but Yami beat him to it. Yami had to fight a moment with the damaged cart to get it rolling--and even then it had a tendency to want to take off on its own, like a shopping cart with a bad wheel. Yami stopped when they came to his own bike, still laying on its side in a growing puddle of oil-slicked rainwater, and frowned down at it.

It had been a nice bike, flame red and yellow with gleaming chrome. It would need a new paint job and probably a lot of other repair work. _Expensive_ _repair work_, Yugi thought, unintentionally mirroring his companion's frown. He risked a look at Yami just in time to catch Yami watching him. Both looked away, Yugi only too aware of the flush heating his cheeks.

"M-maybe it's not as bad as it looks…" he stammered, eying the crumpled motorcycle.

Yami's sigh was almost inaudible; Yugi was sure he wasn't meant to hear it. Yami kicked at the rear tire, seemingly lost in his own thoughts again. "I'm…sure it isn't."

Meaning it _was_, or worse. Yugi stared at his feet, only then becoming aware that he had lost a shoe. Distractedly, he looked around for it and found the battered toe of his sneaker sticking out of the stuff crammed into the wagon. He tugged the shoe out and put it back on. When he looked up, Yami was watching him, again. His expression was unreadable, but Yugi felt the heat rising in his face once more. What was wrong with him, today? He hadn't blushed this much since high school!

Through unspoken agreement, they dragged the motorcycle upright then wrestled it onto the cart. With Yami pushing the uncooperative and overloaded pedal-cart, Yugi led the way through the rain toward the Kame Game Shop. Overhead, the storm prepared to unleash its fury on Domino.

--------------------

Yugi was limping only slightly by the time they reached the alley between the Mutou's shop and the bakery on the other side. His vision had cleared some time ago, and his headache was a dull nagging presence, so he figured he didn't really have a concussion, after all. No doubt his guest was as anxious as he was to get out of this miserable cold and damp, and into a hot bath. Yugi chanced a peek at the other man -- and shivered as, unbidden, the image of that slender form, naked and enveloped in steam, rose up in his mind.

If his head hadn't already hurt so much, Yugi would have smacked himself in the forehead. What the heck was wrong with him? Had the crash knocked something loose in his brain? Or was it really just the other man's proximity that was doing these things to him? Not daring to glance back over his shoulder at Yami, Yugi swung the gate open and said with false brightness, "Come on, let's get out of this rain!"

Pushing the damaged cart, Yami trailed Yugi into the narrow alley between the shop and its neighbor. Weathered stucco walls rose on each side of them and their feet splashed through shallow puddles collected in the potholes. Despite the hour and the rain, there was just enough light to see by, provided by security lights set high on the walls. The lights illuminated chipped clay pots set here and there in cast iron holders mounted beneath them. Each pot had been clumsily, if optimistically, painted in vibrant colors and held a healthy-looking plant. One sported bright, fragrant blossoms on trailing vines; another was weighted down by plump fruits or vegetables. Yami, who had diligently avoided his mother's extensive gardens, had no idea which they might be.

Yugi turned to the left, where a wide doorway was recessed slightly into the thick adobe wall. The door looked large enough to accommodate the cart. Yugi shoved his thumb into the 'reader beside the doorway, then waited impatiently for it to verify his thumbprint. When the door hummed open, sliding along a track in the thick wall, he motioned for Yami to push the pedal-cart inside. "Don't worry. There's plenty of room for your bike, too."

Yami wheeled the cart into a dim garage space that smelled faintly of damp concrete and musty boxes. He hefted his bike down from its precarious position atop the dented wagon, then turned to find Yugi watching him with a faraway look in his eyes.

"I'll pay to have your cart fixed. Or I can replace it," he said, feeling guilty and defensive. The boy didn't seem to notice the abruptness of his tone. "The accident _was_ my fault, even if you do forgive me."

"No...It's okay." Yugi shook himself, his cheerful smile returning. He scurried over to the door opposite the one they'd entered through and opened it, revealing a dingy hallway lit by a bare lightbulb, and a steep set of spiral stairs. "Come on inside. I'll fix us some hot tea and find you some dry clothes."

That sounded like a good idea, Yami decided, noting the faint flush coloring Yugi's rounded cheeks. He was probably coming down with a fever after being caught out in the rain, like that. Getting run over by an idiot motorcyclist without enough sense not to drink and drive probably hadn't improved his health any.

Shoving his hands in his pockets and trying not to look as guilty as he felt, Yami plodded up the stairs after Yugi.

--------------------

As Yugi bustled around the kitchen -- making tea and gathering packaged cookies, crackers, the last of a small round of hard cheddar and some fresh fruit for a light snack -- he was hyper-aware of the man in the other room. After their mishap, they were both soaked to the bone and in need of at least minor medical attention. Yugi had changed quickly, cleaned and bandaged his own scrapes, then turned the bathroom over to Yami. He pointed out the clean towels and placed the first aid kit within easy reach on the countertop next to the sink, then headed for the kitchen. Now, he put the finishing touches on the tray he had been preparing and, moving quietly on socked feet, carried the food into the living room.

He set the tray onto the coffee table, then looked around absently, his brow furrowing. He had the funniest feeling there was something he was forgetting.

At that moment, Yami stepped hesitantly into the room. Yugi looked up at him… and felt his mouth fall open. He went cold, then hot all over as it became very clear to him exactly what he had forgotten.

He had forgotten that Yami didn't have any dry clothes to change into.

Wearing nothing but a bath towel and a rather embarrassed smile, Yami stopped just inside the room. One hand was holding the towel in place around his waist, the other made a sheepish gesture. "Sorry, I…"

"No! It's okay!" Yugi practically tripped over his own feet getting across the room. As he sped down the short hallway, he called back over his shoulder, "Wait there. I'll just be a minute!"

He returned a few minutes later with a bundle of black cloth in his hands. He thrust the bundle at Yami, not daring to look the taller man in the eyes. "I found these -- I think they'll fit you."

When Yami hesitated, Yugi mumbled, "G-Gotta beat standing there in a towel. Right?"

A reluctant smile tipped the corner of Yami's mouth for just a moment.

"Can't argue with that," Yami said at last, and took the bundle. On closer inspection, it turned out to be a set of men's pajamas. A set obviously not belonging to Yugi, as the hem of the pajama pants would have fallen well past Yugi's feet and then some. He raised an eyebrow, looking up with a question in his eyes.

Yugi shrugged, trying to ignore the faint heat he could feel creeping up his neck and across his cheekbones. The explanation came out in a rush, words tumbling over themselves. "They were all I could find that I thought would fit. In case you didn't notice, you're taller than me and even taller than my grandpa and it's not like you'd want to wear something of my mom's, so..."

He took a deep breath and peered at Yami from underneath his still-damp bangs, suddenly shy again. "…They were my dad's."

For a long moment, Yami simply stared at the bundle in his hands, an unreadable expression on his face. Then he turned slowly. Yugi almost panicked, thinking he'd offended his handsome stranger, but Yami only said, "These are fine. Thank you," in a quiet voice and headed back down the hall to the bathroom to change.

--------------------

When Yami returned, now clad in the black pajamas, Yugi motioned for him to join Yugi on the sofa. Yugi poured the tea and distributed the food, and they ate in companionable silence for several minutes. Outside, the wind-driven rain continued to rattle the windows, but inside the home attached to the small game shop, all was warm and dry and cozy.

Finally, Yugi set his teacup back on the tray and edged a look at his unexpected guest. Yugi wasn't a complete social novice, but he had little experience with something like this and was at a bit of a loss as to how to proceed. He had dated a few times (okay, twice) in high school, but…Yugi's thoughts ground to a complete halt as he realized the direction they were headed. He mentally smacked himself in the forehead. _Idiot! _he thought derisively. _You don't even know if he's interested in you!_

"So…" Yami's voice startled Yugi, who jumped guiltily, nearly upsetting the tray when his knee smacked into its edge. They both made a grab for it and almost collided with one another. Yugi, finding his face inches from Yami's, suddenly forgot how to breathe.

"Sorry," Yami said, with a faint, awkward smile. He took the tray from Yugi's shaking hands and set it safely out of the way on the opposite end of the coffee table. "I seem to be doing that a lot since we met. Apologizing to you, I mean."

"You don't have to, you know," Yugi said, scooting back to a safer distance. He toyed with the gauze wrapped around his left hand. "I meant it when I said I forgave you."

Yami studied him for so long that Yugi felt his blush starting to heat up, again. Then Yami nodded, as if to himself, and said almost wonderingly, "I believe you."

"Well, now that that's out of the way…" Yugi hopped up from the sofa and collected the tray. "I'll just clear this away and put your clothes in the washer, then… We could play a game, if you'd like?"

For a second, Yami looked surprised. Then he smiled. The expression, though barely tugging at the corners of his mouth, was unexpectedly warm. "Sure, kiddo. You don't happen to play cards, by any chance?"

"_Kiddo_?" Yugi frowned. At twenty-one , he knew he looked -- and sometimes acted -- far younger than his years, but… "How old do you think I _am_, anyway?"

"Uh," Yami seemed taken aback by the question. Then, sounding as if he were being generous in his estimate, he guessed, "Thirteen? Fourteen?"

_Oh, great_. Yugi rolled his eyes. The first person he had been interested in -- in _that_ way -- since Téa, and the guy thought he was a kid! He stalked toward the kitchen, not bothering to hide his displeasure. He dropped the dishes noisily into the dishwasher, turned… And almost ran smack into Yami, who was suddenly standing just behind him.

Yugi yelped and jumped back -- or tried to. His socks slid on the slick kitchen tiles and only Yami's quick reflexes saved him from a nasty fall. Yugi pressed a hand over his pounding heart and stared up at the other man. Carefully, Yami set him back on his feet, then stepped back, an unreadable expression making an inscrutable mask of his handsome features.

"T-Thanks," Yugi stammered a little breathlessly.

Yami started to speak, seemed to change his mind, and finally said, "What time are your parents due home?"

His_ parents_--? Oh, right. Yami still thought he was a little kid. "I live here with my mom and my grandpa," he said. "Grandpa's away on business. He won't be back until late tomorrow. My mom's at work. It's her turn on night rotation at the hospital."

Yami raised his eyebrows. "They leave you here all alone?"

"Well, I _am_ twenty-one," Yugi said, and enjoyed the look that momentarily widened Yami's dark eyes. "I think I can take care of myself for a few hours."

Yugi finally had to produce his ID chip to prove to Yami's satisfaction that he was, as he claimed to be, a legal adult. Containing a sample of the bearer's DNA, the chips were difficult to falsify. Yami, though skeptical at first, was forced to admit that Yugi most likely lacked the skills -- or the cash -- to fake the ID and therefore was, despite all visible evidence to the contrary, twenty-one.

"Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence." Yugi grinned despite the words and gestured toward the shelves against the far wall of the living room. Apart from a scattering of books and pre-recorded vids, the shelves were crowded with an assortment of games. "So, what would you like to play?"

"It's your home," Yami said graciously. "Therefore, I defer to your choice."

Trying not to show his reaction to such a mannerly response, Yugi wandered over to the shelf unit and pretended to browse through the collection of games while he gathered his composure back together. He considered, and discarded, chess, Parcheesi, go, and a variety of other board games. Then his eye fell on a certain golden box and his decision was made. Lifting the box carefully from the shelf, he turned to Yami with a smile.

"Care to duel?" Yugi asked.

"Duel?" Yami's eyes darkened. Yugi thought he saw a flash of pain in their depths.

"Yeah. You know, Duel Monsters?"

Straightening his shoulders as if bracing himself for an ordeal, Yami nodded. "We can duel. It's been awhile since I last played, but I think I recall the basic rules."

_Jeez,_ Yugi thought. _You'd think I'd asked him to look at old family vacation vids from the way he's reacting. If he doesn't wanna play he can just say so_.

Still, Yugi was thrilled at the idea of playing his favorite game with this intriguing man. He hadn't realized how strong the urge was to do something -- anything -- impressive in front of Yami. Suddenly he wanted to excel, to make Yami think him extraordinary at something. Honestly, his best bet to be noticed was playing his favorite game well -- but what did this impulse mean? Was this feeling a sort of hero-worship or could it be something more?

Pushing the confusing tangle of thoughts and emotions to one side, Yugi carried the box back to where Yami was sitting. Yugi knelt at one side of the coffee table and carefully removed the lid of the box where he kept his best dueling decks.

"Do you mind if I bring out the holo-mat? Mom doesn't like me to duel with it since some of the monsters scare her." Yugi rolled his eyes comically.

Yami laughed softly and some of his tension eased. _One game of Duel Monsters, that's all he's asking. It's the least I can do after running the poor kid down_. "No, I don't mind."

"Excellent!" Yugi shot him a quick smile, unfolded the cybercloth on the coffee table and switched it on.

"Duelists! You are about to play a game that has its origins in the deep past. Join your best efforts with the kings of old, who played this self-same game amongst the golden sands of Egypt!" a synthetic voice from the mat exclaimed.

"Uh..." Reddening slightly, Yugi hastily toggled the introduction switch to the 'off' position. _Great. Now he thinks I'm a geek._ "Sorry about that."

"Hmm. 'The sands of Egypt', huh? I wonder if there's any truth to that. Probably just something they added to make the game more appealing," Yami noted.

"Yeah," Yugi agreed aloud. Inside, he was cringing and thinking, _Great, not just a geek but a naive target for clever marketing. Oh, yeah, Yugi. You're off to a terrific start here. Look at him -- he's impressed already. _

Resisting the urge to drop his face in his hands, Yugi removed the decks from the box and sorted the cards into the proper piles. Then he stared at them and wondered which deck to give to Yami. Of course, they were both pretty evenly balanced, so it would be a fair match… That is, if Yami really knew how to play. He wondered if Yami was any good. False modesty aside, Yugi knew that he was a good player. He had won a few tournaments, including a planetwide competition sponsored by Industrial Illusion. In fact, he was pretty good at games in general, rarely losing any he played. Now, he just hoped the duel would be a fun distraction for the two of them and, maybe, lighten some of the shadows he could see lurking deep in Yami's eyes.

Yugi kept the cards of his favorite deck and handed the other deck to Yami. "Is this okay? It's a good deck, but if you'd rather make up one of your own, I have some extra cards in my room."

Yami felt the old urge to excel, ingrained in him practically since birth, well up in him. Looking over at the eager light in Yugi's extraordinary eyes, he reminded himself sternly that he wasn't playing against Seto. For once, he was free to relax and simply _play._ It was a novel experience for him, to contemplate enjoying a normal game of Duel Monsters without the perceived need to crush his opponent beneath his heel. Crush or be crushed… That pretty much summed up his relationship with his cousin. At first, it had been their fathers pushing them to out-achieve one another, but by now he and Seto carried on their rivalry without any outside prompting. Sometimes, he wondered if it were the only way they _could_ react to one another, and the thought saddened him.

Yami found that he was grinding his teeth. He forced his thoughts away from his family and concentrated on the cards in his hands. As he thumbed through the thin plastic rectangles, he was relieved that there was no Dark Magician with accusing eyes to stare up at him from images on the cards. Having familiarized himself with the deck, he looked up to find Yugi watching him. There was a mixture of caution and anticipation in his posture and on his youthful features that was strangely endearing. Yami shook himself mentally. His thoughts were wandering in odd directions this evening. If he had needed more proof that going bar-hopping had been a bad idea, this was surely it.

"I'm ready," he said with a lightness he did not feel. Even as he spoke, he scrubbed the perspiring palm of his free hand against the leg of his borrowed pajamas. He flexed his fingers, chiding himself for the tension thrumming along his nerves. It was just a game. Just one game. And they were merely cards and holograms, not mecha. He could endure just one game.

"All right." Yugi nodded. He started to lean forward over the holo-mat, then paused as a new thought occurred to him. "Oh, what was the last expansion you recall playing? I don't want to have cards you don't have a chance to recognize in my deck."

Yami cast his mind back. His last game had been against Seto, of course. His perpetual challenger. The two of them had faced off in the finals of the Mars Station tournament just before his final battle. The battle that had ended in the loss of Jupiter Station and Anzu's life. His life was divided by that fact: before Jupiter Station and after. His hands clenched and the sharp edges of the cards dug into his flesh. He forced his fingers to loosen their too-tight grip before he warped Yugi's cards.

"This game is just for fun," he said finally, "so I don't mind if there are cards I don't know."

"O-okay," Yugi said slowly. He wondered what it was about a simple game of Duel Monsters that seemed to be bothering Yami so much. Maybe it hadn't been such a good idea to suggest playing, after all. He opened his mouth to say as much, but Yami chose that moment to look up at him and smile. Dazzled, Yugi reached over and turned on the holo-mat's scorekeeping function.

"It's time to duel!" Yugi smiled up at Yami as he issued the traditional challenge. Yami's own smile widened just a bit and Yugi felt something inside him relax. Dueling was a _good_ idea. He was sure of it. It would be fun. And it would give him a chance to spend some time getting to know Yami better. Yes, dueling was a _very_ good idea.

"Celtic Guardian. Defense mode," the holo-mat intoned as Yugi played his first card. "One card, covered." Yugi tapped the control on his side of the mat. "End of turn."

A tiny Celtic Guardian, detailed as faithfully in the hologram as it was on the card, appeared in front of Yugi. In the space behind the Guardian, the back of one of the dueling cards showed where Yugi had placed the actual card on the trap square on the mat in front of him.

"By the way," Yugi said, "I set the game to basic, so you don't have to worry about tributing in order to summon higher level monsters." When he and his grandpa dueled, they played by advanced tournament rules; otherwise, it simply wasn't challenging for either of them. But Yami didn't seem all that familiar with the game, and Yugi had no desire to smash his opponent in only a few moves.

Yami nodded distractedly. His mind was on his cards, considering possible strategies. His gaming mind refused to go along with his conscious decision to simply play for fun. Silently, he laughed at himself. He had never before quite realized just how effective his father's indoctrinations had been. _Am I really so competitive?_ he thought. _Yugi isn't Seto -- not by a long shot. It wouldn't be a show of weakness to just… play. He wouldn't think any less of me. Would he? _

"Big Shield Gardna. Defense mode -- one card cov-- two cards cover-- end of turn." The holo-mat could barely keep up as Yami played three cards in quick succession and toggled the end of turn control. Big Shield Gardna, cowering behind his shield, appeared on Yami's side of the mat. His back row showed that two facedown cards were ready to be activated on his side of the field.

Yugi blinked at him. A familiar rush of adrenaline uncurled in his gut. Could it be? Was this mysterious guy actually a good duelist, too? Yugi didn't recall making any wishes on anything lately, but Yami was certainly starting to appear to him as if he were Yugi's unspoken wish come true.

"So, Yami, where were you off to in such a hurry that you run people over in the rain?" Yugi asked lightly as he played his next card. He immediately regretted the question, as Yami's eyes became guarded once more.

"No, no. I didn't mean it like that! Idiot, I'm an idiot. I was just trying to make small talk..." Yugi rushed to explain as he drew a card and started his turn.

"No, don't apologize." Yami sighed. " _I'm_ the idiot. I don't know what I was thinking, doing something so stupid." He stared blinding down at the holo-mat. In a murmur meant more for himself than Yugi's ears, he admitted, "I wasn't trying to get _to_ anything. I was just trying to get _away_…"

To cover up his own discomfort, Yugi played his cards before really thinking it through. Fortunately, his instincts were good. Unfortunately, they might be too good.

"Shield and Sword. Effect. Big Shield Gardna switches to attack for the rest of turn. Celtic Guardian attacks Big Shield Gardna. Big Shield Gardna destroyed. End of turn."

On the field Yami's Big Shield Gardna stood up, abandoning the safety of his shield just in time to take the sword thrust of Yugi's Celtic Guardian through his unprotected gut. Gardna fell over and dispersed in a cloud of pixels, indicating the defeat of the card.

Yami's heads-up display on the dueling field mat showed the loss of life-points. He glanced up through his bangs at Yugi. "Well, that was sneaky. Effective, but sneaky. Aren't you just full of surprises?"

Yugi listened to the velvet purr of Yami's voice, pleased to have made him notice him. It occurred to him that courtship was a game, too. The thought froze him. He had never been interested in guys -- or girls, really, beyond what he now saw were rather innocent flirtations. So why was he having all these thoughts and feelings about someone he had just met, and another man at that? It was all so confusing… He shook himself from his reverie in time to realize he'd left himself open to attack. He'd forgotten to back up his Celtic Guardian with another monster card, and he'd forgotten to play another covered card, too.

"Sorcerer of the Doomed. Attack mode. Attacks Celtic Guardian. Celtic Guardian destroyed -- one card co-- two cards cover-- end of turn."

Although Yami was playing too fast for the mat to articulate his moves, the holofield faithfully showed the attack. The skulls and doomed faces that made up the body of the Sorcerer of the Doomed flowed out, grabbed the Celtic Guardian within their ectoplasmic embrace, and dragged the elven warrior to join them. The Celtic Guardian's face, twisted in agony, appeared as the new shoulder-plate of the Sorcerer's gruesome, spectral armor.

_Well, that could have been much worse,_ Yugi thought, then grimaced. _But_ _I'd better pay attention if I don't want to look like some sort of star-struck kid. _

His covered card, a trap card, required that he sacrifice two monsters to use it and he had none. Useless, for now. Yami's side of the field startled him. Only one active monster card, true, but four covered cards. One of the covered cards was another monster, so three of them were traps or magic cards. Yugi decided he had better set some defenses of his own, rather than going after Yami's monster.

"Giant Stone Soldier. Defense mode. One card covered. Two cards covered. End of turn."

Eyes narrowing slightly, Yami considered his opponent. Yugi hadn't gone after his sorcerer. Either Yugi didn't have a card strong enough, or he was setting up a strategy that reached more than one turn into the future. For the first time, it occurred to Yami that Yugi actually was the twenty-one years of age he claimed to be. Better to not underestimate him.

"Curse of Dragon. Attack mode. End of turn."

Wondering why Yami hadn't attacked, Yugi glanced up, trying to somehow read his opponent's mind so he could understand Yami's actions. He didn't think Yami was afraid of his facedown cards... So what could it be? Not pity, he hoped. He couldn't bear it if Yami were pitying him. _Wait_... He felt a little flare of hope. _Could it be he doesn't want this duel to be over so soon? I know_ I_ don't._

"Monster card, face down. Defense mode. One card covered. End of turn."

Yami drew his card thoughtfully, then toggled his commands.

"Summoned Skull. Attack mode. Curse of Dragon attacks Giant Stone Soldier. Magic card Chorus of Sanctuary activates on defending side. Curse of Dragon defeated."

On the holofield, the Curse of Dragon screamed as it dove into a power-dive to attack the Soldier. A sudden chorus of small cherubs made the Stone Soldier flex his biceps defensively and the Dragon bounced off to crash into the ground and disperse. Yami paused in his turn to blink at the board in confusion. He had expected his Curse of Dragon to take out Yugi's defensive monster, not be defeated by it. He narrowed his eyes and regarded his hand again.

"Sorcerer of the Doomed switched to defensive mode. End of turn."

_That will teach me to duel so recklessly. Yugi isn't Seto, so I don't know what his strengths and weaknesses are_, he reminded himself. He smiled, contemplating what it would be like if he had the luxury to explore Yugi's strengths and weaknesses at greater length. He suspected the kid...no, the young man, possessed strengths that most people didn't give him enough credit for.

Yugi breathed deep. He knew he should probably try to take it easy on Yami, since Yami admitted he hadn't played in a while, but Yugi didn't think Yami would appreciate it if he knew Yugi had been holding back.

"Neo the Magic Swordsman. Attack mode. Hidden monster card revealed. Stern Mystic's special ability reveals all face-down cards."

Yugi was delighted to see a mild look of shocked confusion wash through Yami's eyes as Yami's facedown cards flipped up.

_Wall of Illusion? Good thing I didn't attack that, since Sanctuary is in effect!_ Yugi thought. _Fissure, Reinforcements and Last Will? Sheesh. I guess Yami's not holding back, either. He really _is_ good._

_Yugi's got Two-Pronged Attack and Sword of Deep Seated hidden away on his side. I'd say he's pretty good, but doesn't have the heart--or lack of one-- to be as bloodthirsty as Seto_, Yami noted, blithely ignoring the fact that he was at least as ruthless as Seto when it came to destroying all challengers. It was the only reason he consistently beat Seto in their never-ending competitions. Once again, he was forced to remind himself that this game was just for fun. _You're not playing against Seto! Cut your afterburners and zone a little for once in your life._

For his part, Yugi was thrilled. Apart from his Grandpa, it was hard for Yugi to find a decent opponent. His own skill at games, natural talent honed by a childhood spent in mostly solitary play, far surpassed those of most of the people in Yugi's life. He couldn't remember the last time he had enjoyed dueling as much as this._ Time for phase two._ T_his'll make him notice me!_

Yami's Summoned Skull suddenly trudged over to Yugi's side of the board. "Magic card, Change of Heart. Summoned Skull acquired for one turn." Yami blinked at his monster's defection. The holo-monster then turned, and trudged back to attack Yami's defending Sorcerer, picking the screaming mage up over his head and breaking the Sorcerer's back across its bended, skeletal knee. "Summoned Skull attacks Sorcerer of the Doomed. Sorcerer defeated."

Oh-ho. Little Yugi likes it rough, eh? 

"One card covered. End of turn."

"_Right_," Yami said as he drew his card. If this were a duel with Seto, he'd start making admittedly pointed, biting comments both to discharge his irritation and to rattle his cousin. But one look at Yugi's face and the impulse died. Teasing was one thing, but to deliberately set out to hurt someone as kind as Yugi would make Yami feel like a true heel.

"Magic card De-Spell played on Chorus of Sanctuary. Chorus removed from play." The little cherubs stopped their singing, smiled beatifically, flew straight up and disappeared.

"Magic card Fissure activated. Giant Stone Soldier defeated." A giant crack ripped across the field from Yami's side and opened up under the Stone Soldier. This card monster didn't scream in its defeat, instead a crashing, crumbling sound echoed up the walls of the fissure.

"Gaia the Fierce Knight. Attack mode. Gaia attacks Neo the Mystic Swordsman. Neo defeated." The holo-knight on the warhorse saluted the swordsman on Yugi's side of the field with his lance. Then he dropped his visor, took aim, charged and ran Neo through. Neo dispersed as the holomat dutifully subtracted life points from Yugi's total.

"Summoned Skull attacks the Stern Mystic. Stern Mystic defeated." This time the skeletal monster didn't crack the spine of its target, instead it balled its two fists together and smashed the resulting self-club down upon the mystic's head. The pixilated effect showed the Stern Mystic's defeat. Yugi's life points dropped again. "End of turn."

Yugi eyed the smoking ruins of his side of the field. Facing Gaia the Fierce Knight and Summoned Skull at the same time was a daunting thought indeed. He held only one card that could survive the punishment those two cards could dish out. He held that one card in his hand -- actually, _had_ been holding it since the beginning of the duel.

_I guess I was holding him back until he could really shine,_ Yugi told himself and placed his cards on the field.

"Magic card Ground Collapse played. Monster areas three and five destroyed," the synthesized voice of the holo-mat announced.

Yami glared down as two of the five areas he was permitted to place monsters on darkened.

"Dark Magician. Attack mode."

The rest of the holo-mat's words were lost in the sudden roaring noise buffeting Yami's ears. No, the buffeting was inside of him, shoving rational thought into freefall. His eyes were drawn down to the holo-field as a familiar -- _painfully_ familiar -- form took shape. The armor was exactly the same shade of purple. The almost smirking expression on the tiny face was exactly the same as the giant one that had regarded him from the bay the one time he'd gone to see his mech since Anzu had died. The tiny eyes blazed the same accusation.

Why did you let Anzu die? 

A hoarse, strangled shout split the air. Yami, unaware that it came from his own throat, did not even recognize it as his own voice. The tiny eyes blazed up at him -- accusing, damning, _cursing_ him.

He jumped backward from the malevolence of the Dark Magician's eyes. Fittingly, the holograms sputtered and died. Only then did Yami realize he had disrupted the mat by kicking the table. He stood in the center of the living room and dragged air into his lungs in painful, rasping gasps. Cold sweat poured from him, leaving him sick and weak. He felt as though he had just awoken from a nightmare. Only Yugi's shocked, concerned expression that told him this was no nightmare. No, what he had just experienced was all too real.

"His eyes. _His_ _eyes_," Yami moaned, clutching desperately at his temples. He staggered back another step, trying without success to escape the accusations pounding in his skull. Unnoticed by either duelist, lightning briefly shattered the darkness outside the windows. Inside the room, the shadows writhed in tune with Yami's torment.

Yugi had never seen anything like it. Yami had been playing with him, beating him actually, and the banter and glances between them were friendly and ... ordinary. Then, all of a sudden, Yami shouted out and jumped up, kicking the table, forfeiting the game by disrupting the holo-field. More alarmingly, he had begun behaving like a raving lunatic. Yami looked as though he'd not only seen a ghost, but had been forced to visit a waiting room of hell in its company.

Yugi did the only thing he could. He jumped up, ran to Yami, opened his arms and pulled the trembling man down into a hug. Yami tensed at the contact, then slowly -- as if he feared letting himself trust the offer of comfort -- he relaxed against the smaller man and let Yugi hold him. After a moment, Yami pulled back. His eyes were clouded, but the hysteria had quieted. Only then did the full impact of what he had instinctively done hit Yugi, and he flushed.

"Um," Yugi said, biting his lip. "Are… are you okay?"

Yami nodded. He offered no explanation for his strange behavior and Yugi thought it best not to ask. They stood awkwardly in the center of the living room, avoiding one another's gazes, each wondering what they should do now.

Yami watched Yugi dig his socked toes into the carpet and berated himself for his lack of control. No doubt Yugi thought he had taken a lunatic into his home, now. Yami wiped a hand over his face, only then realizing that his cheeks were wet with unnoticed tears. He murmured something about going to freshen up and nearly ran to the bathroom down the hall.

Alone, he stared at himself in the mirror over the bathroom sink. Haunted eyes gazed back at him from an ashen face streaked with cold sweat and tear tracks. _Oh, Seto, if you could see me now… _A faint, bitter smile touched his mouth at the thought. He was willing to bet Seto would forfeit his considerable inheritance for that privilege. Shaking his head at his own thoughts, Yami washed his face, frowned once more at his reflection, then straightened his shoulders and headed back to his waiting host.

Yami returned to the living room to find Yugi struggling with the pull-out sofa bed. He hurried over and lent a hand. Soon, they had wrestled the bed into submission and Yugi, panting a bit as he tried to catch his breath, sank down gratefully onto the edge of the mattress. He grinned at Yami, then looked down, patting the lumpy mattress with one hand.

"I hope you don't mind? It's really pretty comfortable..." As if to prove it, he bounced once, causing the ancient springs to squeak rustily in protest.

"No, it's fine." They fell silent again as their gazes met. Yami found his voice dropping almost to a whisper as he softly added, "Thank you."

They both knew he meant for more than the loan of a pair of pajamas and a place to sleep off his ill-advised drinking spree.

In an equally soft voice, Yugi said, "You're welcome."

--------------------

It was only as he was turning off the lights and preparing to retire to his own bed that Yugi realized he had forgotten to put Yami's clothing into the washer. He trotted back into the kitchen, where he had left the shirt and jeans tossed over the back of one of the dinette chairs. When he lifted the shirt, something slid from the pocket and landed with a faint _clunk_ on the table. Curious, Yugi picked the object up. It looked like a lapel pin of some kind, a modeling in exquisite miniature of the Dark Magician's face and helmet. He stared at it, wondering why Yami would have such a thing when it was clear that this particular duel monster affected him in a powerful but negative way. Shaking his head in confusion, Yugi placed the pin back on the table. If Yami wanted him to know, he would tell him.

It occurred to Yugi that he should make certain there was nothing else in Yami's pockets that might become damaged in the washer or dryer. He pulled out a thin case of what looked like real leather. In one corner, the tiny initials 'YK' were discreetly stamped in gold. Yugi stared at it. Was Yami rich? The Mutou's weren't poor, but even his Grandpa couldn't have afforded something like that. From the same pocket, he retrieved the crushed remains of a personal phone. Staring at the bits of shattered plastic and wiring, he realized the phone had probably gotten broken in the accident.

The rest of the pockets yielded up only lint and a few scraps of crumpled paper. One of the pieces of paper was slightly thicker than the others and when Yugi smoothed it out, he realized it wasn't paper at all, but the thin, flexible plastic of a photograph.

_"What are you doing?" _Yami's voice was harsh, almost threatening, and for the first time it occurred to Yugi that taking a complete stranger into his home for the night might not have been the best idea he had ever had.

"I-I'm sorry," Yugi stammered, dropping the photo onto the table and falling back a step in the face of Yami's wrath. He had never known anyone who could move as silently as Yami seemed to. "I was just going to put these in the washer and I-- I didn't want your things to get ruined, so I--"

Yami halted in mid-step. His expression was a frozen mask, but slowly his hands unclenched and the taut line of his body relaxed a bit. "Of course." He shook his head, a look of self-disgust flickering in his eyes. "I'm sorry I overreacted."

As Yugi watched, Yami looked down at the things on the table. He reached out and traced the tip of one finger along the lines of the Dark Magician pin, then plucked it and the photo from the pile. Yugi caught a glimpse of a woman's face before Yami's hand covered the photo. Noting the trembling of Yami's hand as he gripped the picture and the grief shadowing his eyes, Yugi said softly, "She's very beautiful. Who is she?"

That expressionless mask settled again over Yami's features, hardening them and making him look far older than his twenty-five years. "No one."

If Yugi was shocked by the sudden coldness in the other's voice, he didn't allow it to show. "Sit down," he said, instead. "I'll make some more tea. I…I think we could both use a cup."

Absorbed in his own thoughts, Yami didn't answer. But he did as he was told, sliding into the chair that still held his tattered jeans. Yugi gathered them and the shirt up and tossed them into the washer before setting about making the tea.

A few minutes later, Yugi set the cup of tea on the table. "Here, drink this. It's real chamomile, all the way from Earth. It'll warm you up." _And calm you down._

Slowly, Yami seemed to retreat from his thoughts, turning his attention back to the world around him. He reached out a hand toward the cup and curled his fingers around the soothing warmth. "...Thanks."

Yugi held his breath as Yami's fingertips brushed against his on the cup. Reluctantly, Yugi pulled his hand away and stood watching as Yami sipped at the hot tea. Steam curled into Yami's face, bringing a faint flush of color to high cheekbones and making him close his eyes. He had, Yugi noticed, heavy, dark eyelashes that made it almost seem as if someone had outlined his eyes in kohl… Then Yugi realized he was staring --again-- and forced himself to turn away to fix his own cup of tea.

The two of them sat in silence for a while, each lost in his own thoughts. Outside, the storm slowly played itself out.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Yami shifted uneasily in his sleep. One hand crept up to pluck fitfully at the front of his borrowed pajama jacket as if seeking a familiar weight. In his dreams, a heavy golden pendant lay beneath his questing hand. The pendant throbbed with power, then shattered in a spattering of blood and darkness, taking with it pieces of his soul. His head tossed restlessly on the pillow and a tiny, strangled sound of denial escaped his throat. But the nightmare held him in its claws and would not let him go.

_With death should have come oblivion. Instead, raw agony coursed over him and, suddenly, he was no longer standing in an ancient temple but floating in the surreal blackness of space. Energy, sun-bright and hot as lightning, slammed through him without warning, shattering his heart. He screamed, his senses filled with pain and the acrid stench of smoke and imminent death. Voiceless, he cried out, _Anzu! _and tore frantically at the metal of his armor, desperate to reach her, ripping at his own chest until he bled lubricants. Black as blood, the lubricant curled and shifted like smoke and shadows in the utter stillness surrounding him._

The shadows gathered, darker than space and laced with lighter whorls of purple and gold, blotting out the terrible scene until there was only the warm silence of sleep once more. Just on the cusp of hearing, a voice whispered, soft words that fell like a benediction on the dreamer's ear.

In the Mutou's house, the living room grew darker still as shadows gathered around the fold-out bed and the lone, restless figure curled atop it. Thin tendrils of dark purple and deepest black reached out to touch the dreamer, stroking his hair in a light, affectionate caress, then wrapping Yami in their protective embrace. Whispered words of comfort and devotion soothed him, chasing away the nightmares.

In the darkness, what might almost have been the vague silhouette of a man in stylized armor flickered briefly into being, then out again, as if the shape could not hold. But when the shadows drifted back to their silent corners, Yami gave a soft sigh and settled into peaceful slumber.

----------------------

_SSDF Orbital Station 002  
__Mars orbit_

Joey sauntered into the Officers' Club, intent on drowning his sorrows -- or, at least, his confusion. As usual, the place was filled with off-duty pilots and noise. In one corner, a genuine antique jukebox flashed with a rainbow of neon colors as it spilled forth an oldie but goodie. Near the back wall, a cluster of onlookers surrounded a table at which a friendly, but intense, duel was taking place. The holographic monsters clashed in combat, their synthetic roars adding to the overall cacophony.

Joey made his way to the bar, returning a few greetings and declining the offer of a duel on the way. He leaned against the bar, his eyes drawn almost against his will to the impromptu memorial that took up most of the wall behind it. Photos of the fallen looked back at him. He recognized many of the faces, including two of the newest additions. Rex and Weevil had been regular forces, so he hadn't known them well. Still, as with any in the tight, enclosed community of the station, he felt their loss. Sometimes, he wondered how many more they would lose before the war was over.

A voice drew him from his morbid reverie. "The usual, Joey?"

Looking around, Joey offered the bartender a lopsided smile. "Nah. I think I feel like the hard stuff tonight, Tristan."

Tristan nodded. "One can of coffee coming up."

A few seconds later, he returned with the drink. Setting the can on the bar in front of Joey, Tristan asked, "You wanna talk about it?"

"Not much to tell," Joey said, with a shrug. He popped the top on his coffee and slugged back a mouthful. He imagined he could feel the caffeine hitting his system and gave a satisfied sigh. "Ah! That hits the spot."

Tristan grimaced. "I don't know how you can drink that stuff, man. I prefer my coffee hot. And unadulterated. And actually made from coffee beans."

Joey shrugged again and swallowed another mouthful of his cold, canned coffee-like beverage. It was caffeinated, loaded with sugar, and close enough to the real thing for him.

"I hear Major Yami got kicked back Earthside," Tristan said, a rising intonation making it a question. "They're saying it was a dishonorable."

Joey's eyes hardened. "Don't believe everything you hear."

"You're saying it's not true?" Tristan's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Man, security escorted him off-station. Rumor has it he's been selling secrets on the side or something."

"_Shit_." Joey's voice was a growl. "I don't know what happened, but this is _Yami_ we're talkin' about. Ain't no way he earned a dishonorable, no matter what anybody says. Had to be medical or somethin'. You know he still hasn't completely recovered from--"

Tristan held up both hands in surrender. "Hey, no argument here. I'm just wondering what the real story is. That's all."

"Yeah." Joey stared morosely at the half-empty drink can in his hand. _Me, too._ He motioned vaguely with his free hand. "Gimme another one, will ya? I think I'm gonna need it."

Tristan raised an eyebrow at that -- coffee, even the ersatz stuff, was expensive -- but simply nodded and produced another frosty can before he was called away by another customer, leaving Joey alone with his drink -- and his thoughts.

_What the hell _was_ going on, anyway?_ he wondered. He had meant what he said to Tristan; no way could he believe that Yami, one of the most honorable men he had ever known, had done anything that would've gotten him thrown out of the SSDF. There had to be some other explanation. Maybe Yami's father had--

"Please, tell me you didn't get that shiner from Captain Blue-Eyes."

Joey half-turned, one elbow still supporting most of his weight on the bar, as he offered up a wan smile to the newcomer. "Hey, Mai. Pull up a seat."

The blonde pilot slid gracefully onto the bar stool beside his, her gaze still firmly fixed on his face -- and his new black eye. She reached out and gripped his chin, tilting his face so she could eye him critically. "I can't say it's not decorative, Joey, but... A little gaudy, don't you think?"

He grimaced -- then suppressed a wince, as the expression pulled at skin and muscle better left undisturbed. For such a lean guy, Yami packed quite a punch. "Would you believe I walked into a door?"

"Not in a million years, hon."

"Yeah, I didn't think so." He took a long pull on his coffee, then set it down and studied her. As always, he liked what he saw. "How about I ran into a fist?"

Her head tilted as she smiled. "That I might believe. Buy me a drink and I'll let you tell me all about it."

Despite the sting, he grinned. "You're on, pretty lady."

Joey ordered a glass of Mars palm wine for Mai, then they moved from the bar to a cozily intimate booth near the great observation window that formed most of one curved wall. The table was sticky with spilled substances Joey would rather not speculate about, but at least they were far enough from the jukebox that they could hear one another without shouting. He slouched back against the scratched faux-wood paneling, toyed with his can of coffee, and admired the way Mai's slender throat worked as she swallowed a sip of her drink.

She set the glass fastidiously on her paper coaster and raised an eyebrow at him. "Well? Are you just going to sit there staring at me all night or are you going to tell me how you got that beaut'?"

Joey rubbed gingerly at his sore eye and sighed. "It all started with Captain Kaiba..."

"When doesn't it?" She rolled her eyes. "Haven't you figured out yet that our Blue-Eyes is a walking fight waiting to happen?"

"Well, yeah. I know _that_." He took a long pull from his coffee drink. It was warm. He drank it anyway. "But he ain't the one who gave me this." He gestured at the black eye decorating his boyish features.

"Then who did?"

"I'm gettin' there!" Another quick drink, then he told her all that had happened: the confrontation between Yami and Seto and his own part in it. Unconsciously, he brushed his fingers over his bruised cheek as he described literally running into the fist Yami had aimed at Seto.

Mai gave him a shrewd look. "So it _was_ a Kaiba who gave you that shiner. Just not the Kaiba I was expecting."

"He ain't _always_ got it under control," Joey said grimly. "Mai… You wouldn't happen to know why Yami's left the station, would you?" She always kept an ear to the grapevine. Maybe she would know.

But Mai was shaking her head. "Sorry, hon. You probably know as much, if not more, about that than I do. Of course, the rumor mill is grinding, but…" She made a moue of distaste. "Frankly, it's all nonsense."

"Just what exactly is this rumor that's goin' around? Tristan said something about it, before. People can't really be sayin' Yami's a traitor… Can they?"

Mai looked grim. "Afraid so, Joey." Quickly, she added, "Not that I believe it for a second, of course. I'd sooner believe Blue-Eyes had suddenly become the embodiment of sweetness and light."

Joey finished his drink in one go. "Man. How quickly some people forget, huh? Yami's a freakin' _hero_. He's risked his life -- hell, nearly _died_ more times than I can count --"

They both fell silent, each knowing what the other was thinking. Jupiter Station. Yami had nearly died at Jupiter Station, would have if not for the incredible will that had allowed his mortally wounded Anchor to cling to life just long enough to pull him from gestalt. They had all seen the Dark Magician -- or what had been left of the mech -- after that battle. It was nothing short of a miracle that anyone had survived it. And it was thanks to the Dark Magician that anyone had escaped the destruction of Jupiter Station with their lives. To think that people were now doubting Yami's loyalty, his dedication to duty…

"Life's a bitch," Joey said finally.

Mai nodded morosely. Neither added "…and then you die," though both thought it. Somehow, that said it all.

---------------------

Seto dreamed of blood, again. When he awoke, tangled in sweat-stained sheets and panting as if he had just run a marathon, he knew there would be no more sleep for him tonight. He checked on Mokuba, who was sleeping soundly, clutching his pillow to him like a shield. Moving quietly so as not to disturb his brother, Seto dressed quickly and headed for the door. He had almost made it out of the apartment when the vid chimed.

Cursing lightly under his breath, Seto shut the door and hurried over to answer the chime before it woke his brother. When the screen came to life, he was surprised to see the face of his inside man at Kaiba Corp. Seto slid into the chair behind the desk, leaned close to the vid screen, and said quietly, "Roland? Why are you calling at this hour?"

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Mr. Kaiba," Roland said, taking his cue from his employer and keeping his voice low. There was a nervous, coiled tension about the man that told Seto this was no routine call. Roland looked worried.

Seto felt his heart constrict in his chest. In a voice made harsh by worry of his own, he demanded, "What's wrong?"

"Sir… It's the research facility on Kaiba Corp Island." Roland hesitated, then forged onward. "The prototype is missing."

Seto straightened in shock. _The prototype?_ He felt a cold knot form in the pit of his stomach as the implications sank home. "It was stolen?"

Roland looked unhappy with the news he was about to impart. "There was no sign of a break-in. I'm sorry, Mr. Kaiba, but it looks as if the prototype… left under its own power."

"That's impossible!" Seto's hands clenched on the edge of the desk, so tightly that the wood-grained plastic creaked alarmingly. The prototype's processors had been blanked, wiped clean; he had seen to that himself. Without operating software, there was no way the thing had simply gotten up and walked away on its own -- which left some very disturbing possibilities for him to consider, none of which were going to make it easier for him to sleep at night.

With some difficulty, he focused on the vid screen, again. His voice strained, he growled out, "How many people know about this?"

"The staff on the island," Roland responded quickly. "No one else. I've allowed no one to leave and there has been no unauthorized communication with the mainland."

Seto nodded his approval. "Lock it down. I don't want word of this getting to my uncle before I've had the chance to do some damage control." And to set some safeguards in place, as well. He should have ripped the processors out of that damned machine, then scuttled it to the bottom of the ocean when he had had the chance. "Keep me informed."

"Yes, sir." The screen blanked.

Switching off the vid, Seto slumped back in his chair, his mind racing. He had to know if what he feared was true. But he couldn't do what needed to be done from here. He would have to get planetside, to the Kaiba estate just outside Domino. Everything he required was there.

Lost in thought, he left the apartment, locking the door behind him, and made his way silently to the bank of elevators at the end of the corridor. From there, the lift carried him down to the mech bay.

It was far after midnight and now that the Blue-Eyes was fully repaired, Seto's first duty shift with his mech was scheduled for early morning. All that remained were the final calibrations that would ensure his usual flawless interface with his mech's AI. He was eager to get back in the harness, but that wasn't what drew him now to the mech bay. Tomorrow morning techs would be scrambling all over his mech even up to the last minute of gestalt, testing systems, refueling, running final checks --scurrying like industrious ants all over the unresisting mech. He appreciated what the tech crew did, of course, but right now he craved a little time alone with his Dragon. Time to perform his own kind of -- he hardly dared think it -- spiritual calibrations.

"I've no idea why you put up with his arrogance!"

The unexpected voice halted him in his tracks. Obviously, the bay wasn't as deserted as he had hoped it would be. Boots silent on the metal flooring as he moved with practiced stealth, he glided closer to the Blue-Eyes' gantry. His eyes widened at what he found there.

"I really hope you can get over what he did to you so that nothing worse happens."

It was the technician from before; the crazy woman who had told him his Dragon didn't trust him. Apparently, she not only talked nonsense _about_ the mecha, she talked _to_ them, as well.

"You really _are_ daft," he said, frowning as he slipped out of the shadows and startled the woman, who had been so completely absorbed in her 'conversation' with the mech that she hadn't noticed his approach.

"Can I help you, Captain Kaiba?" She blushed furiously, obviously embarrassed to have been caught in her eccentricity, though it was apparent from her stance and the tilt of her chin that she was trying to pretend otherwise.

Seto ran his assessing gaze over his Dragon. _His_ Dragon. Blue-Eyes belonged to him. No one else could pilot it, no one else could _be_ it, so it was his. The mech gleamed under the sodium lights of the repair bay. The tech had obviously just finished something; she had a faint smudge on one cheek and a weary look in her eyes, as if she had been laboring hard on behalf of the mech in front of her. A glance down showed him the chamois in her hands and the nearly empty, industrial-sized canister of polishing compound on the floor near her feet. She'd been cleaning and polishing his mech, even though the official duty shifts were long over. Maybe her supervisor was punishing her for some infraction, though if talking nonsense was now against the rules, Wheeler was in a great deal of trouble.

"Not that I believe you, but..." Seto carefully did not meet her eyes. "What exactly did you mean about my Dragon not 'trusting' me?"

He knew that the Duel Mecha possessed what could arguably be termed a rudimentary personality. Some of the pilots swore that their mecha were more than merely machines and Seto knew that the Duel Mecha AIs evolved individual quirks, in a sense 'learned' from their pilots and grew with each mission, each successful gestalt. Seto wasn't sure he would grant that evolution the term 'personality,' but he knew there was something more to his Dragon than mere circuitry and metal. He wouldn't go so far as to say that the Blue-Eyes had a soul, but he knew there was something more than machine or man, something greater than the sum of its parts, when the two of them were in gestalt.

The technician moved and he tensed, uncertain what she was up to, but she only fumbled in the pocket of her purple coveralls. She retrieved an object, something small enough to hold in the palm of her hand, and stepped toward him.

"This is a remote AI interface. We developed them for the Mark III mechs, along with the multiple Anchor discipline," she said, holding the object out to him.

He frowned, not taking it. "What does it do?"

"When active, the remote connects pilot and mech--" she began, something in her voice reminding him of a teacher going into lecture mode. He hastened to interrupt her before she could get too technical.

"I'm connected with my mech during gestalt," he reminded her. His frown deepened. "But no pilot can maintain that kind of contact outside his mech."

"No. You're right." She wiped absently at the smudge on her face. "But the remote doesn't create an actual gestalt. It's entirely one-sided, from pilot to mech. You, as the pilot, are the 'active' component of the gestalt; you can gain nothing from the AI remote. But Blue-Eyes, here, is the 'passive' component and can receive whatever you choose to send it."

Kaiba looked down at the item she finally succeeded in pressing into his palm. It was a rather good likeness of the face of his Blue-Eyes in its dragon form. Turning it over, he noticed that there was a pin on the back, rather like a piece of jewelry. He studied it, torn between accepting it and tossing it back at her.

"If there are any problems with tomorrow's integration tests, I'm recommending Class E patrols for Blue-Eyes until your AI/pilot gestalt interface values return to pre-damage levels." She dropped the bombshell without the slightest change of intonation or expression.

"_Class E?_" Seto exploded. "Those are nothing but milk runs for new pilots to get used to handling their mecha!"

"Exactly," she agreed evenly. "Look, Captain Kaiba, I'd be thrilled if you proved me wrong. If you achieve full gestalt tomorrow, my recommendation is satisfied. You can go back to Class A missions from the get-go and everybody is happy."

Seto fumed. "Look, lady, I don't know who you think you are--"

Her eyes widened. "I think I'm the person who can ground you if I'm not satisfied by the test results, tomorrow."

"_What?_ You--" He squinted at her, for the first time noticing the embroidered insignia on the front of her coverall -- an entwined 'KC' over the standard Mars Station patch -- and the deep purple color of the coverall itself. This was no ordinary grease-monkey, but a high-ranking tech. If she was telling him the truth, _the_ high-ranking tech, at least as far as the mecha's AIs were concerned.

Even Seto was familiar with Dr. Mann, the cyberneticist in charge of the "mental health" of the Duel Mecha artificial intelligences. She had transferred along with a cadre of engineers and technicians from Kaiba Corp when the enhanced mecha had gone from experimental machines to the first line of defense against the alien invaders. She was usually to be found in the mech bays, actively working on the Duel Mecha under her care -- in particular, the Dark Magician and the Blue-Eyes White Dragon, the oldest of the enhanced mecha and the two most advanced AIs. Seto was vaguely aware that she had spent the six months it took to repair Dark Magician either up to her metaphorical elbows in the AI's damaged psyche, or collapsed on a cot in the back of the mech bay when exhaustion claimed her. Seto could understand that kind of devotion; if a similar catastrophe were to befall his Dragon, he would expect the same care to be lavished on his own mech.

And she had the power to ground him, if she could somehow prove that he wasn't fit to pilot Blue-Eyes. He narrowed his eyes at this annoyingly dangerous, utterly daffy woman.

Almost as if she couldn't restrain herself any longer, Gears wandered over and stroked her hand lovingly along one of Blue-Eyes' foot support struts. Immediately she rubbed her rag across where her hand had been, erasing her fingerprints from the mech's shining silver-white skin with the polishing compound.

"If you don't achieve your pre-accident gestalt levels..." She turned and glared at him.

"You might be its pilot, Captain Kaiba, but I know every program -- every sub-routine. I don't want to see Blue-Eyes so wounded, again!"

Kaiba found himself taking a step back from the mad woman. "Mad," yes; not just angry, but given to notions that were...strange. She obviously cared more for the mech than for the mech's pilot. And what was she, who worked with the software almost exclusively, doing polishing the hardware?

Fishing for a relatively safe topic, Kaiba asked, "Why does this thing look like a piece of jewelry?"

"It _is_ a piece of jewelry," she said calmly. "Hopefully, it's masculine enough that you wouldn't object to wearing it. But it's far more than simply decorative. If you wear it the Blue-Eyes AI will receive you."

"Receive -- what, exactly?"

"Your thoughts, your feelings. You could talk to it, if you like. Tell Blue-Eyes how much you trust it. Tell it about your Anchor. Tell it -- anything you want, really. Chat. Of course, if you achieve full gestalt tomorrow, you won't need it. Not that it will hurt you to use it, anyway."

Seto read the challenge in her eyes.

"Then keep it." He handed the device back to her, even though part of him longed to keep it, to wear it. To always have part of Blue-Eyes with him was a temptation almost too great to refuse. "I won't need it. I've never had any difficulty in achieving gestalt." Unlike certain pilots he could name -- Yami had refused to even attempt gestalt after Jupiter Station, had run from his mech like the coward he truly was rather than risk failure.

"Okay." Reluctantly, she accepted the remote pin and tucked it back into her pocket. "But, Captain Kaiba, if you change your mind for any reason, realize one thing." Her eyes were opaque, giving Seto no idea what thought was running through her mind. "I will do anything for my mecha. Even help their pilots." The corner of her mouth quirked in the slightest of grins. "So, I promise-- If you decide you want the remote after all, I won't gloat. All you have to do is ask for it and it's yours. No questions asked. Deal?"

Seto didn't respond, simply turned and stared up at the shining mech towering above them. He thought he heard her mumble something, but when he glanced around again, she was gone. With a little sigh, he hoisted himself up onto the gantry. Near the top was a small platform where a technician could sit while performing tests on the AI. When Seto reached the platform, he settled down beside the Blue-Eyes. He barely felt the cold metal of the housing against which his back rested and paid scant attention to the discomfort of the hard steel grating underneath him. All that mattered to him for that moment was the gleaming white creature beside him. The Blue-Eyes was quiescent now, but soon he would join with it once again and they would soar on wings of flame.

Comforted by the presence of his Dragon, Seto eventually fell into a dreamless sleep.


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

_Domino City  
__Arcadia Planitia  
__Kaiba Corporation Colony, Mars_

Despite the fact that he was definitely not a morning person, Yugi awoke early. He peeked into the living room where Yami was still sleeping peacefully on the pull-out bed, then padded into the kitchen and set about making breakfast as quietly as possible. Once the coffee-maker was brewing -- he had broken into Grandpa's stash of the real stuff, Kona roast all the way from Earth -- he pulled Yami's clothes from the dryer. He turned to take the clothes to Yami and "_eeped!_" when the other man was, once more, right _there_ instead of where Yugi expected him to be. He fell back a step and pressed a dramatic hand to his thundering heart.

"Do you _ever_ make noise when you walk?" Yugi demanded. He knew his cheeks were bright red -- again -- and that his lower lip was protruding in a bit of what could only be called a pout, but… Dammit, why did the man have to keep sneaking up on him? It was embarrassing! "I've never seen anyone as quiet as you!"

"I'm sorry." Yami smiled faintly. "I didn't mean to startle you."

Yugi sighed. He found it hard to stay mad at anyone for very long, and there was something about Yami that seemed to go straight to his heart. He smiled. "It's okay, Yami. Are you hungry? I was just about to make some breakfast."

"Thanks." Yami took the clothes from Yugi's hands. "I'll go get dressed, then I'll come and help you. All right?"

"Um, okay."

Yugi watched his guest leave, then shook himself and wandered over to the cabinets to look for the pancake mix. As he did so, his thoughts turned to something that had been nagging at the back his mind since the day before -- the notion that, somehow, somewhere, he had seen Yami's face before. He didn't think it was simply because of the slight resemblance between them; other than their hair, the two of them really didn't look _that_ much alike. Yami's features were sharper and lacked the roundness that still plagued Yugi, making him look far younger than his twenty-one years. Yugi's eyes were a weird shade of blue (in elementary school, the other kids had called him "Grape Eyes"); Yami's eyes were a deep, beckoning brown. Where Yugi was pale, Yami had the golden tan of one who loved the outdoors.

Lost in his musings, Yugi bustled around the kitchen, gathering the necessary ingredients for scrambled eggs and bacon, fresh fruit, and pancakes. He couldn't ask Yami -- it would seem too much like prying -- but he really wished he could figure out why Yami's face seemed so familiar. He climbed onto the top of the step-stool in order to reach the upper cabinet where someone taller had so inconsiderately stored the mixing bowls. Could he have seen Yami somewhere before? Maybe on--

His thoughts crashed to a halt as his socked feet slipped out from under him and he began to tumble backward off the stool. Yugi barely had time to yelp in surprise, arms windmilling as he tried without success to regain his balance. He grimaced in anticipation of the upcoming hard landing… and then he wasn't falling anymore. Startled, he looked up in shock at his rescuer's faint smile.

"We have to stop meeting like this. People will talk," he said breathlessly, and allowed himself a cheeky grin at the look of utter surprise on Yami's face. Then Yami righted him, set him back on his feet, and smirked.

"Then let's give them something to talk about," Yami said.

And kissed him.

-----------------------

Yugi froze. Yami's lips were warm where they brushed lightly against his, a soft butterfly kiss that left him breathless and thoroughly confused. He stared up into brown eyes as seemingly startled as his own, as if Yami had surprised himself by his actions as much as he had Yugi. Then Yami drew back, his features settling into an unreadable mask as he stared down at Yugi.

The uncomfortable tableau was broken by the sound of the door chime from downstairs.

Yugi tore his gaze away from Yami and practically fled down the stairs to the street-level entrance. His heart was pounding wildly in his chest and his thoughts were in chaos. Was he upset that Yami -- someone he had only just met, and another man, at that -- had kissed him? Yugi's face burned with embarrassment…and something else. Innate honesty forced him to admit that he was more upset by the fact that he _wasn't_ upset that Yami had kissed him than by the act itself. Unable to untangle his own feelings, he forced his thoughts onto safer territory. Like who could be ringing the door chime at this hour of the morning. It would be another hour before the usual opening time posted on the shop's front door. So, whoever was there, they probably weren't customers. A friend of Grandpa's, perhaps, come for an early visit?

His feet skidded on the polished laminate flooring as he barreled down the stairs and into the narrow hallway connecting the apartment with the game shop. Catching himself against the wall, Yugi took a deep breath to calm himself a bit before going quickly to the door and peering through the security lens. He was surprised to see two towering men wearing identical business suits, dark glasses, and stern expressions on the other side of the door. With some trepidation, Yugi pulled open the door.

"Uh-- C-can I help you?" he stammered, not knowing quite how to react to the unexpected presence on his doorstep.

"It's okay, Yugi," Yami said quietly, coming up behind him. Yami frowned, recognizing the men as two of his father's security people, though their names eluded him. For a second, he wondered how they had known where to find him. Then he remembered the GPS transponder installed in his phone. While the device was no longer capable of making calls, the transponder was obviously still functioning, and its signal had led them right to this very doorstep.

The thinner man addressed him directly. "Your father expected to see you _yesterday_, Mr. Kaiba. We have orders not to leave the planet without you."

So his father didn't even trust him to make the trip from Mars to Earth without an escort? Yami would have been angry, but honesty made him admit, if only to himself, that his father might have a point for once. After all, he had been expected to return home the night before… and here he was, still on Mars. He sighed. "Give me a moment and then I'll come quietly."

The bulkier of the two nodded. "Please hurry, sir."

Yami didn't bother to reply. He knew his father must be furious with him for not coming directly home. He wasn't looking forward to the confrontation. But he wasn't going to be able to avoid it, not this time. He saw the worried look on Yugi's face and summoned up a reassuring smile for him. "It's okay. Really. But I have to go, now."

Yugi didn't look convinced. In fact, he looked more worried than before and there was the beginning of a pugnacious expression surfacing in his eyes, as if he were preparing himself to defend Yami -- physically, if necessary. "Yami… Who are these guys? Are you in some kind of trouble?"

"Not really." Yami sighed. He shoved his hands in his pockets and tried to look more nonchalant than he felt. "These men work for my father."

If anything, Yugi's eyes got even wider. "Who's your father?"

"Kazuki Kaiba, CEO of Kaiba Corporation."

"Yeah." Yugi gave a little chuckle. "And I'm the King of England."

Yami didn't laugh at the joke.

"Uh…You're not serious?"

"Yes."

For a second, Yami thought Yugi might actually be choking, but Yugi managed to pull himself together with admirable speed. However, his eyes were still comically huge. "_What?_"

"Sorry I didn't tell you last night, but..." Yami shrugged. "It didn't seem important."

"No, it's… all right." Yugi still seemed on the verge of hyperventilating, but he was making a fast recovery. "I'm just… surprised." After all, it isn't every day you find out you've been entertaining the heir of your home colony's founding family.

"Yugi, I--"

"_Sir_," Suit Number One interrupted, while Suit Number Two looked pointedly at his watch. "We have transport waiting. And your father is not a patient man."

Yami flinched at the reminder. "All right. I'm coming." He glared at the men. "Wait outside. I'll be right there."

Suit Number One looked as if he was going to argue, but his larger partner tugged discreetly on his sleeve and the two of them stepped back from the open doorway. Yami sighed and turned back to his host.

"I want to thank you again for your kindness, Yugi," he said with quiet sincerity. "And, I promise you, I will replace your cart."

"You don't have to do that, Yami. It was an accident--"

"Yes. An accident _I_ caused with my carelessness." He looked away, shame filling him as he remembered how reckless he had been. He was just grateful that Yugi's injuries had proven minor. "Please. It's the least I can do."

"Well…" Yugi bit his lip, gazing up at Yami from underneath his bangs. "Okay. If you really want to."

"I do." Yami stepped forward, one hand half-reaching for Yugi before he caught himself. Confused by his own actions, Yami shoved his hands back in his pockets. "I'd better be going."

He was halfway out the door when Yugi's soft voice made him hesitate in mid-step.

"Yami?"

"Yes?" Yami stopped, but didn't look back. He wasn't sure why, but he knew looking back, seeing Yugi, would only make it that much harder to leave.

"W-will I ever …see you, again?"

The words were barely audible, but they went straight to Yami's shuttered heart. Inside his pockets, his hands clenched. Consciously, he forced them to relax. When he replied, his voice was nearly as soft as Yugi's had been. "…I don't think so."

Flanked by his father's security guards, Yami strode swiftly down the sidewalk -- but not before he heard Yugi's breath catch in his throat. Yami's body tightened with the inexplicable impulse to return, to gather Yugi into his arms and comfort him. The feeling terrified him.

Without another word or glance, Yami fled.

------------------

Yugi closed the door and slowly made his way back upstairs. Feet dragging, he made his way to his bedroom and slumped onto the unmade bed. He knew he should go clean up the kitchen, but somehow he couldn't find the will power to move. He fell back against the pillows and stared up at the ceiling. When he was five, his mother had decorated the ceiling with little stick-on, glow-in-the-dark stars. They were still there. He pursed his lips and attempted to blow his unruly bangs out of his eyes. No wonder everyone still thought he was a kid! Not only did he look the part, he was surrounded by childish things.

Rolling onto his side, he scowled at the Duel Monsters tournament poster tacked to the opposite wall. Reminded of the game he and Yami had played -- well, started to play -- the night before, he scrubbed at his burning eyes (he was _not_ crying, dammit!) and sat up. Yami's reaction to the Dark Magician had scared him; at the time, he had thought the man was having some kind of fit or something. Now, it just puzzled him. What could have made Yami react like that? And did it have something to do with why he had run away?

The thought brought Yugi up short. Run away? Was that really what Yami had done or did Yugi just want to think that to salve his own bruised ego? He couldn't deny that it hurt, thinking that Yami did not want to see him again. But… Was that what Yami's reaction had meant? Or could it be that Yami was every bit as confused as Yugi felt?

Again, he thought back to their duel. Right up until the moment Yugi had played the Dark Magician, he had been certain Yami was enjoying their friendly competition. Unless he had completely misread Yami -- and he didn't think he had -- Yugi wasn't the only one who had felt that ineffable sense of… connection…between them. He shook his head. Maybe he was grasping at straws, but… No. No, there _was_ something there. He was sure of it. Yami _had_ kissed him, after all. It had to mean something.

Didn't it?

Yugi sighed. Moping around all day wasn't going to get anything done. A glance at the clock showed him he still had some time before he had to open the store. He was torn between what he knew he _should_ do -- clean the kitchen -- and what he really _wanted_ to do. Finally, he gave in to the temptation.

Leaning over, he pulled open the drawer on his nightstand and retrieved a small metal box. He sat back, the box cupped carefully in his hands. The lid and sides of the box were covered in hieroglyphs. From the front of the box, a raised Egyptian eye his grandpa had told him was called an _udjat_, seemed to stare back at him. Yugi sprawled onto his stomach, spilling the contents of the box onto the rumpled sheets. The golden pieces of a puzzle glittered in the early morning light. With the confidence of long practice he began to fit the pieces together. The first few were easy. He had been attempting to solve this particular puzzle for eight years and, although he had yet to complete it, he could practically assemble in his sleep the bits he _had_ figured out.

In his hands, the pieces swiftly came together to form a partial pyramid. As he clicked the last of the familiar pieces into place, he felt a peculiar thrill run down his spine. The chunky puzzle pieces seemed to shimmer in the light from the window and, where he gripped it loosely, the puzzle itself seemed warm against his skin. He stared at it. The puzzle had never done _that_ before…

Almost of its own volition, his hand moved to pick up a new puzzle piece and set it into place. Yugi's eyes widened. His hand almost trembling with excitement, he reached for another piece and, as before, locked it easily into place. He couldn't believe it. He had never been able solve this much of the puzzle!

Feeling his mood lighten as his anticipation grew, Yugi reached for another puzzle piece.

---------------------

Traffic out of Mars was heavy, but that didn't hinder the private shuttle as it blasted past Phobos and headed for open space. There were advantages to being the son of a rich and powerful man, Yami mused sourly, as the small ship was given priority clearance by Mars orbital traffic control. They were shuffled to the head of the queue at the nearest civilian jump-gate and, fifteen minutes later, were on approach for Earth, the KC pilot exchanging radio chatter with Antarctica traffic control.

With a barely suppressed groan, Yami settled back in his plush seat. Suit Number Two had already informed him that a car would be waiting at the spaceport to take him directly to his parent's estate. Obviously, his father was taking no chances Yami might decide not to keep this "appointment," as he had sometimes done in the past. His stomach clenched at the thought of the confrontation to come, even as the blue-white sphere of Earth filled the forward windows.

It had been a year since he had last visited the planet of his birth, a year since he had refused to leave the SSDF after sustaining near-fatal injuries in the battle that had claimed his Anchor's life. That decision, like so many involving Yami's future, had been made over his father's vehement objections. Yami had a sinking feeling he already knew the topics that his father felt it so necessary to discuss with him in person. One would, of course, be Yami's resumption of the duties his father had designated for him within the company. The other…

"We're entering final approach, sir," came the voice of the man Yami was still thinking of as Suit Number Two. He supposed he should ask the man his name, but found he couldn't really summon up the will to care. In fact, he was finding it difficult to care about anything. Unbidden, the image of wide, concerned violet eyes drifted across his memory.

Yami suppressed the urge to groan. Only a blind man would have missed the hurt in Yugi's eyes at the cold way Yami had taken his leave. He still wasn't sure what had made him so eager to escape; he just knew that the impulse had been irresistible, and he had obeyed it, practically fleeing from Yugi's presence as if the younger man was an alien mech out to blast him from the skies. Yami shook his head, then leaned his temple against the chill window beside him. The cold did little to dull the headache he could feel building behind his eyes -- or the nagging ache twining about his heart. Why did Yugi affect him this way?

And why had Yami kissed him? 

Without warning, pain spiked through him like someone had slammed a blade into his temple. Yami gasped, hands flying up to clutch his head, all thoughts lost in the sudden agony. Behind tightly closed eyes, images of blood and gold, shadows and piercing light flared, flickered, and were gone.

With a low moan, Yami followed them into the darkness.


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

_SSDF Orbital Station 002  
__Mars orbit_

In the hangar bay, Seto was attempting without much success to pass the integration test with the Blue-Eyes White Dragon. They had been at it for almost half an hour and Seto was experiencing the kind of frustration that made him want to put a fist through the nearest wall. Even in the beginning, when he was first learning the ins and outs of the process, it had never taken him so long to achieve gestalt.

On the screens of the test equipment hooked to the mech, two ribbons of blue and white stretched out for each other, twining... and failing, again, to mesh. The ribbons broke apart, shredding. Seto's teeth ground together audibly.

Yearning to feel whole once more, Seto reached for the Dragon with all his skill, all his strength of will. His VR ribbon had never been so coldly blue before. He knew he would succeed. All that he had suffered, all the foolishness that he had endured, it was all about to dissolve in a blaze of gestalt glory. He'd show them all! _He_ was the only true master of the Dragon. These fools had no idea what the Dragon... no, what _he_ was capable of.

In the familiar embrace of his sensor harness, Seto forced his body to relax into the restraints and reached once more for the mind of his mech. The white ribbon that represented the AI's consciousness extended toward his own with what seemed an uncharacteristic hesitancy, as if the machine were reluctant to complete the bond between them. Impatient -- and with an anger that increased with each failure, an anger he had never felt toward his Dragon before -- Seto flung his mind at the machine, snaring the ribbon and seeking to _force_ its cooperation.

The AI retreated from him with an almost tangible sense of alarm.

The sound of pilot frustration filtered down from the closed cockpit to the technician monitoring the test. Captain Kaiba, the tech observed from his position on the steel platform level with the mech's open chest plastron, could curse like a sailor. The white-suited technician frowned at his equipment, then sighed and opened the local comm channel to the mech. "Captain Kaiba?"

An inarticulate snarl was the only response. The tech frowned in concern. "Sir, it works better if you maintain a calm and even --"

"I know that, you fool!"

The tech's frown deepened, and now it held a measure of resentment as well. He had been unlucky enough to draw the short straw -- and the unenviable position of being the one administering the integration test, today. Silently, he swore to get back at that bastard Bacardi for talking him into swapping shifts in the first place. _Well, never again_… He toggled the mike. "Captain? I really think we should call it a day. Sir."

A deep growl sounded over the comm channel. "What was the last integration level?"

The tech hesitated. Finally, he cleared his throat and reported, "Less than forty percent… and falling, sir. It's getting worse, not better. I _really_ think--"

"When I want your opinion, I'll ask for it!" There was a lengthy pause and the sound of tightly controlled breathing. "I'm going to try, again."

"Yes, sir." The tech wasn't happy about it, but he knew better than to argue. "But, sir... I have to insist that this be the final attempt for today." He rushed on before the captain could protest. "Each failure only lowers the values further. I'm afraid, if it continues too long, it will damage the AI."

That made the captain pause, as the tech had known it would. Kaiba might be a genuine jackass most of the time, but even he did not want to deliberately harm his mech. After a moment, the captain said, in a strained voice that was more growl than speech, "Very well. This will be the final attempt...for today."

"Yes, sir."

--------------

Five minutes later, Seto had reluctantly conceded temporary defeat and allowed himself to be extracted from his mech. As he rode the gantry lift to floor level, he found himself recalling last night's conversation with that insane tech -- Gears. She had claimed his Dragon didn't trust him. In light of his consistent failure to achieve gestalt... Could it be she was right?

As if thinking of the annoying tech was enough to summon her, Gears appeared from behind a pallet stacked with unopened crates of spare parts. Seto groaned. He really didn't need this right now…

"Any luck, Captain Kaiba?" the tech asked, nodding toward his quiescent mech.

Seto lowered his narrowed gaze to the datalink clutched tightly in her hands. With the portable computer she was holding, she had constant access to every open system on the station -- and, more than likely, quite a few of the closed ones as well. No doubt she already knew _exactly_ how his attempts had fared. His tone was as icy as his gaze as he said, "As if you didn't know."

She had the grace not to pretend otherwise. "I did warn you, Captain. If you don't have the trust of your mech's AI, you'll never be able to achieve the gestalt values you need to pass your evaluations and --"

"I am well aware of the requirements of my position," he snapped back, drawing himself up to his full, intimidating height.

"Maybe. But you don't seem to understand the AI component in your mech." She hugged the datalink to her, her gaze fixed somewhere near his left ear, as if she couldn't quite bring herself to meet his laser-bright glare. "Your mech's AI is different from those in the other enhanced mecha. It's tailored specifically to you -- to respond to, and be compatible with, your personality.

"That work was done before you ever tried to gestalt with Blue-Eyes. Since that first time, the AI has been in a constant state of development, growing and adapting each time you gestalt. Trust is an important component in what you share with your mech's AI."

_There it was again,_ he thought. _That ridiculous insistence that a machine could 'trust.'_

"The AI _wants_ to gestalt with you. It's like a child, and you are the most important being in its universe. It doesn't feel complete unless it's with you in gestalt. But it got badly hurt the last time, and now it's afraid to trust itself to you, again."

Seto rolled his eyes, not even trying to hide his disdain. No matter what, he had never let himself forget that his Dragon was a machine -- something this woman did not seem capable of remembering for very long at a time.

"The remote interface is a way for you to directly reassure the AI by connecting with it in an unthreatening manner."

Seto almost snarled. So it was back to that again, was it? Wouldn't this tiresome woman ever give up?

"Using the remote interface will give you a chance to connect with the AI in a non-threatening environment. You won't be taking it out into space to fight enemy mecha, so it can't get hurt. You wouldn't sense anything, but the AI would receive all of your thoughts and emotional states." She offered him an earnest, if somewhat awkward smile, and continued her impassioned plea. "So, if you activate the remote and deliberately think about how much you admire Blue-Eyes and, most importantly, how sorry you are that Blue-Eyes got hurt, and reassure it that you will do your best to make certain it doesn't get hurt again, I believe the AI will calm down and start to trust you again."

Seto blinked at her. How had she managed to spout all of that tripe in one breath? He made a dismissive gesture and started to turn away. "You're wasting my time with this nonsense."

"But, Captain Kaiba…" She caught at his sleeve, just enough to delay him, then hastily let go, as if the material of his uniform sleeve had burned her fingers. "What could it hurt to try? With Dark Magician out of action, we can't afford for Blue-Eyes to be side-lined, too."

That was a low blow; he could see by her expression that she knew it, too. His frown deepened. "Leave that has-been out of this," he commanded, and on some level was delighted by the flicker of outrage in her eyes. "Yami has nothing to do with my --"

"Failure?"

He glared at her. "-- _Difficulties_. Which I will resolve on my own."

Leaving the remote device untouched in the palm of her outstretched hand, he turned on his heel and stalked away.

--------------

In one of the cramped offices above the mecha hangar, Duke Devlin fought yet another battle in the never-ending war against paperwork backlog. As usual, he was losing badly.

The large partnership desk he shared with the other occupant of the office took up most of the floor space in the room. What little remained was largely taken over by filing cabinets, overflowing tool bins, and a pair of desk chairs that had both seen better days. Seated at his side of the cluttered desk, Duke was immersed in collating the scattered data in the handful of electronic notepads strewn about the work surface. It was his responsibility to take that data and transform it into a coherent report he could transmit to the Kaiba Corp offices on Mars. From there, it would eventually make it back to headquarters, on Earth, but by that time it would have ceased to be Duke's responsibility.

With a groan, he left off in the middle of a particularly tricky paragraph, and called up a new screen on his work station. He needed a break from routine paperwork, and he decided that he had worked hard enough to deserve one. Besides, the new document held far more interest for him.

He was so immersed in his work that, when the office door hissed open on its track and his officemate stormed into the room, he almost yelped aloud. Heart thudding in his chest, Duke hastily banished the screen before she could see what was on it.

Gears was visibly fuming. If it had been possible to slam the pocket door behind her, she would have. "…He is such an arrogant idiot!"

"Who? General Anderson?" Duke was amazed by how calm and casual he managed to sound. His heart was still pounding so loudly he was astonished she couldn't hear it. "He didn't approve the Remote Interface Devices?"

"What?" Gears looked puzzled that he would even need to ask. "No, the general's a sweetheart. The RID approval's in the bag. It's that idiot pilot that's the problem!"

Duke hid a grin that was one part amusement, one part relief that she hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary. His secret was safe. Speaking of secrets: It was no secret that Gears thought more of her machines than she did the humans who flew them. "Which 'idiot pilot' is it this time?"

"Captain Kaiba!" She flung herself onto the only other chair in the office, folded her arms over her chest, and scowled at him across the clutter of tools, plans, glossies, intricate electronics, and circuit diagrams piled between them on the shared desk.

Duke grimaced. It was common knowledge that the Blue-Eyes White Dragon's pilot was difficult to work with at the best of times. Sure, Seto was one of the elite Duel Mecha pilots, an "ace in space," but -- in Duke's opinion -- he didn't have to be such an arrogant prick about it. However, given how little contact Gears had with anything not directly related to her mecha, he was a bit surprised that there had been a run-in between the cyberneticist and the temperamental pilot. "What happened?"

Gears sat up, reaching over to toy absently with one corner of a clear plastic cube on Duke's half of the desk. On one side, the cube bore the legend "God doesn't play dice with universe." On the other was the image of a pair of dice coming up snake-eyes. The cube was filled to the brim with the multicolored dice that Duke liked to worry with when working on an especially complex project. Duke watched her, impatient but aware that if he pushed too hard, she would clam up and he would never hear the story. He had only known her for the six months he had been on-station, but he knew her well enough to wait patiently for her to speak.

"According to the tests I ran during the Blue-Eyes White Dragon's repair cycle, the AI trust values are the lowest they've ever been." She picked up a purple die and twirled it between her fingers. Duke doubted she was even aware of what she was doing, given the distant look in her eyes. She frowned as she continued. "I rechecked it, and they haven't risen enough to make a difference. So, I thought I ought to warn the captain about it and…"

She huffed out an exasperated breath, scowling blindly at the die in her hand before dropping it back into the container. "I guess I made a mess of it. Argh! He's such a closed-minded twit! He caught me last night, finishing up the cleaning and polishing of the Blue-Eyes White Dragon."

Cheeks flaming with embarrassment, she shoved herself to her feet, reached for one of the datapads stacked haphazardly beside the dual workstations, and began to pace in the limited space between desk and filing cabinets.

"Anyway, I thought… Well, it looked like the perfect opportunity to get him on board with the RIDs. I mean, any pilot would jump at the chance to improve his relationship with his mech. It's just common sense, right? The better your interface, the easier your gestalt. Why _wouldn't_ he want to use it?"

While he agreed with the sentiment in theory, in practice Duke knew that it was also almost exactly the wrong tack to take with the reserved -- some would say 'repressed' -- Captain Kaiba. "So what did Captain Hard-Ass do?"

"He shot it down!" she wailed. She turned to stare at him and he could see both the frustration and the honest confusion in her eyes. She truly didn't understand why Captain Kaiba had refused the RID. "I just hope his pride doesn't drag my AI down with him when he falls. Not that it matters, but he now thinks I'm the stupidest person on this station. My convincing him to use his remote after this is going to be next to impossible."

He swiveled around in his chair and stared thoughtfully at her. Gears had never explained why she was so convinced the mech AIs in her care were "people" in their own right, apart and separate from what the mech became in gestalt with its pilot, but she always seemed slightly confused when someone didn't believe the way she did. Especially a pilot who actually shared in the AI's mind in gestalt.

"If it comes down to it, General Anderson will just have to order him to use it. That's all," Duke said, reassuringly. "Why didn't you go to Lt. Wheeler or Lt. Valentine, first? With them on board, Captain Kaiba would have had to accept his RID, just to keep up."

"I don't think Captain Kaiba's one to give in to peer pressure," she said, looking suddenly thoughtful herself. "He doesn't seem to care what anyone thinks."

One of Duke's eyebrows shot up in surprise. That was pretty insightful for the socially-challenged Gears. "You sound like you admire that."

"I guess." She frowned, chewing a bit on her lower lip. "The _trait_, not Captain Kaiba. He's an okay sort when he's actually in gestalt, but he's really _annoying_ when he's just the pilot."

"You can say that, again." Duke decided to change the subject before she could get worked up, again. "So, the general approved the RID program? Any provisos on implementation?"

"Not from the general. Corporate wants the usual useless monitoring and a virtual paper-storm of detailed reports, though." She grinned down at Duke, who gave a theatrical groan, but inwardly admitted he was glad to be the one compiling the reports. He had seen the mess his predecessor had left of the paperwork. Frankly, he could see why General Anderson had demanded that Kaiba Corp replace Leichter. The man really hadn't handled himself very well during the crisis which had followed the attack on Jupiter Station and the near-destruction of the Dark Magician.

"You've gotten more comfortable dealing with the general, haven't you?" Duke asked, kicking back and resting his feet on a tiny area of exposed desk. "I remember when you wanted me to make all the face-to-face reports."

"You're the head of mech-support. It's your _job_ to make reports."

"It's called 'delegation,'" he said archly. "Besides, it's good for you. You need to get out more."

"Yeah, well…" She flushed red with embarrassment. "Remember, if you please, that my background is pure research. And he used to scare me! …Still does, sometimes."

"Hey, with me as your wingman, you've got nothing to fear." Duke tossed her a saucy wink. "Haven't I always got your back?"

"Why, yes," Gears agreed in a sweet tone that instantly put him on his guard. "You are undoubtedly the best wingman for piloting a desk!"

She successfully held back her laughter until Duke growled -- and pelted her with a few expertly tossed dice.

-------------------------

All Seto wanted was to retreat back to his quarters and tell the world to go hang. Well, no. What he really wanted was to achieve the nearly effortless gestalt that had become his trademark, to become one with his Dragon and forget the chains of duty that bound him so tightly in his human form. Since he could do neither, he found himself at loose ends, lurking on the fringes of the hangar bay and watching with narrowed eyes as the technicians once more swarmed over his mech. And he found himself thinking about what Gears had said. What if she were right, after all? The very idea made his jaw clench. It was insane…

A page over the public address system interrupted his reverie. "Captain Seto Kaiba, report to General Anderson's office. Captain Seto Kaiba, report to General Anderson's office."

With a last look at his Dragon, Seto hurried toward the bank of elevators against the far wall. Whatever it was that Anderson wanted to see him about, Seto had a sinking feeling it would not be good news.


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

When he arrived at the general's office, Seto was taken aback to discover Joey Wheeler there before him. Wheeler was slouched against one corner of the secretary's desk, attempting without much success to flirt with the perky redhead who served as the general's adjutant. Joey straightened as Seto approached, a frown settling over his features.

"What're _you_ doin' here?" Joey demanded, folding his arms over his chest and looking Seto up and down as if he were something nasty he had just discovered on the bottom of his shoe.

Seto returned the favor. "_I_ have an appointment with the general. And you?"

"Same here."

"Wonderful."

"Now that you're both here," the adjutant said, "you can go in. The general is expecting you both."

She pushed a control on her desk that no doubt alerted the general to their arrival, and the door behind her desk slid silently open. Without acknowledging Joey's presence beside him, Seto strode into the lion's den.

Anderson was waiting for them. He fixed the two of them with the patented Anderson Glower and got straight to business. "Gentlemen. No doubt you're wondering why I've called you here."

"Yes, sir." Joey and Seto answered in unison. Joey bit back a grin; they couldn't have done better if they had practiced it.

Anderson went on as if neither had spoken. "Captain Kaiba. I've seen your latest integration values." He scowled. "_Forty percent?_ What the hell is _that_?"

Seto gritted his teeth. "A temporary situation, sir."

"Really? And how do you intend to remedy this ' temporary situation,' Captain, when I'm told you refused to use the remote interface device?"

The muscles in Seto's jaw jumped as his teeth ground together. _If he keeps that up_, Joey thought, _he's gonna need new teeth by the time he hits thirty_.

"I don't need a fancy lapel pin to integrate with my Dragon!" Seto snapped. "Sir."

"_Forty percent,_ Captain," Anderson reminded him, eyebrows raised. "Sounds to me as if you can use all the help you can get. I don't know about you, Captain, but I don't have a lot of confidence in forty percent. Hell, I've got wet behind the ears _recruits_ who can achieve a forty percent gestalt value! I expect better of a pilot with your experience."

Anderson's stern gaze shifted to Joey, who unconsciously came back to attention. "Lieutenant Wheeler… I see _you_ have no problem with utilizing the RID."

Joey lifted a hand to the small Red-Eyes Black Dragon pinned to his uniform blouse. "No, sir. It's… kinda nice, actually. Kinda like havin' a part of my Red-Eyes with me all the time."

The general smiled. It was almost as frightening as his glower. "Excellent." The smile hardened as Anderson's gray eyes focused back on Seto. "You would do well to follow Lieutenant Wheeler's example, Captain Kaiba."

There was a loaded silence. Joey wondered if it were possible for Kaiba's head to actually explode. He was pretty sure he could see steam leaking out of Seto's big ears.

It was a moment before Seto regained control of his voice and ground out, "Yes. Sir."

"In the meantime," Anderson continued, "I'm sure you will be happy to hone your skills as member of our illustrious Valkyrie squadron."

_"What?"_ Seto's eyes widened and his jaw, which he had been clenching so hard it was beginning to make _Joey's_ teeth ache, fell open. "The _Valkyries_? Those aren't even enhanced mecha!"

"Good to see you haven't forgotten _everything_ you learned in basic training, Captain." Anderson's eyes narrowed. "I suggest you see if you can also remember the proper way to address a superior officer."

"You can't take my Dragon away from me!" Seto was a tower of icy fury, but underneath it all, Joey thought he could sense a whiff of fear.

"It's a temporary reassignment," Anderson said, his voice softening just a touch. Perhaps he, too, had sensed Seto's fear. "Just until your I-values return to acceptable levels. In the downtime, I can't afford to have my top pilot flying a desk. I'm reassigning you to Captain von Schroeder's unit."

_Siegfried?_ Joey nearly choked as he bit down hard on his tongue to keep from blurting the name out loud. Siegfried von Schroeder was well-known on Mars Station -- one might even say 'notorious' -- and not just for his flamboyant style. Siegfried also possessed the only ego Joey had ever met that rivaled Seto's for sheer size and arrogance. Watching the play of emotions on Seto's face, Joey had to work hard not to laugh aloud.

Finally, Seto ground out, "You have got to be kidding. Sir."

"Does this look like a smile to you, Captain?" The infamous Anderson Glower was back in place. Joey gulped, only too glad the Glower wasn't aimed at him. If only to himself, Joey had to admit that Seto must have nerves of steel not to flinch beneath that fierce regard. Or maybe he was too pissed about losing his Blue-Eyes to even notice it.

"General Anderson," Seto said in a voice fairly vibrating with the strain of maintaining a respectful tone, "with all due respect, sir, I fail to see the logic of removing your best pilot from --"

"Seto…" Despite the stern gaze, Anderson's tone was kind. "Of course I would rather have you where you belong, as the Blue-Eyes' pilot. But we're already one mech down and the aliens are growing more and more aggressive. I simply can't afford to leave you on the sidelines, right now, no matter how temporarily. I need you in a mech, and if that mech has to be Valkyrie, then so be it."

Absently, he reshuffled some papers on the desk in front of him. "We've even had to accelerate our pilot training program. Starting tomorrow, we'll have a pair of new additions to the Duel Mecha unit."

Anderson looked back at Joey. "That's where you come in, Lieutenant Wheeler. I expect you to take these greenhorns under your wing while they're getting the hang of things around here. Since both of our new pilots are barely out of basic, they'll need the help."

"Yes, sir." Joey sneaked a glance at Kaiba. _Yep, still fuming_. "I'll teach 'em everything I know about bein' a good pilot, sir."

"That shouldn't take long," Seto mumbled. Joey shot him a glare.

"In addition," Anderson continued, ignoring their byplay, "it is my pleasure to inform you, Wheeler, that you are being promoted to flight leader, with a commensurate elevation to the rank of captain." He stood and offered Joey his hand. "Congratulations, Captain Wheeler."

For once in his life, Joey was speechless. After a few seconds of staring and gaping at the general, he shook himself and grasped Anderson's proffered hand. "Thank you, sir!"

"You've earned it, Captain," Anderson said, with a faint smile.

Joey beamed proudly. _Captain _Wheeler! _Who'd've thunk it?_ He couldn't wait to tell his sister the good news. Maybe they'd even round up the gang and hit the O Club to celebrate. He glanced over, half-thinking to invite Seto to tag along, only to find Seto giving him Seto's own version of the Glower. Joey's smile died and the words withered on his tongue. In his delight, Joey had briefly forgotten what an asshole Seto really was.

"One last thing, gentlemen," Anderson said. "There are credible reasons to believe there is a spy on the station. Classified information has been leaking out for months, and there have been other… irregularities. I expect you both to maintain full vigilance and report any and all suspicious behavior to me at once."

"Sir…" Joey hesitated, swallowed hard, then forged onward. "Does this have anything to do with… what happened to Yami, uh, Major Kaiba?"

"Mr. Kaiba's situation is none of your concern, Captain," Anderson said firmly. His tone clearly indicated that the line of conversation was at an end. "I suggest you tend to your own."

Chastened, Joey lowered his gaze to stare at his boots. "Yes, sir."

"Good." Anderson looked Seto. "As for you, Captain Kaiba… Upon leaving this office, you will march directly down to the chief technician's office on E-ring, acquire the RID prepared for you, and then _you will utilize it to the fullest extent of your abilities_. Have I made myself clear?"

Muscles bunched along Seto's stubborn jaw. But he nodded. "…Yes, sir."

"Glad to hear it." Anderson relaxed back into his leather chair. "Captain Wheeler, I believe you have a couple of new pilots waiting for you in the mech bay. Good luck to you."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Joey saluted smartly.

"And you, Captain Kaiba, after acquiring your new remote, will report to Captain von Schroeder and familiarize yourself with your new Valkyrie."

"Yes. Sir." Clearly unhappy, but resigned to his fate, Seto saluted stiffly.

"Excellent." He returned their salutes. "Dismissed!"

-----------------------

Out in the corridor, Joey turned to Seto, intending to offer the other pilot a bit of commiseration. If looks could kill, Joey would've dropped dead on the spot. Satisfied he had gotten his point across, Seto jabbed a finger onto the lift button and growled, "Not. One. Word, Wheeler. Not one word or I swear I'll --"

"Did I say anything?" Joey's face crumpled into a blatantly false wounded look. "_I_ didn't say anything! Jeez, you act like you expect me to rub it in or somethin'."

Seto eyed him suspiciously. "Rub _what_ in, exactly?"

"Nothing! Exactly nothin'," Joey said, biting the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from snickering. "I'm sure you're gonna fit right in with good ol' Siggy and his Rose Valkyries." The smirk broke free of his control. "You'll look great in one of those pink flightsuits!"

Howling with laughter, Joey turned and ran for his life. Seto's outraged growl chased him down the corridor.

---------------------

Joey made it to the mech bay without further incident. He glanced around, noting the more than usual number of technicians swarming the bay. They seemed to be congregating in the area around the huge elevators that were used to return the mecha to the hangar from the recovery platforms. He craned his neck, hoping for a glimpse of the new Duel Mecha, but -- from this angle -- the mass of humanity prevented him from seeing anything beyond the glimmer of light shining off dark armor. With a huff of irritation, he gave up and swept his gaze around the hangar, looking for the new recruits. When he spotted a pair of young men standing near the personnel lifts and looking rather lost, he figured he had found them.

Joey wandered over to where the two newcomers were standing. "Yo!" he called, with a friendly wave. "You guys the new pilots?"

The taller of the two, a slender young man with a mane of white-blond hair, returned a more-subdued greeting. "Hello. Yes, we are." He smiled politely. "I'm Lt. Ryou Bakura and this is Lt. Leon von Schroeder."

"Von Schroeder?" Joey gave the shorter pilot a second look. "You're not related to Siggy, uh, Siegfried, are ya?"

"He's my older brother," Leon said. There was no mistaking the note of pride in his voice. It was a lot like the one Joey sometimes heard in Serenity's voice when she spoke about him. "You know my brother?"

"Oh, yeah." Joey grinned. "Everybody knows Siegfried."

"He is an excellent pilot," Leon said, smiling. Joey decided not to argue. He turned his attention back to the other newcomer.

"So, Bakura, was it?" At the other's nod, Joey continued, "I'm Captain Joey Wheeler, pilot of the Red-Eyes Black Dragon." It gave him a little thrill to state his new rank, and he unconsciously straightened his shoulders and stood a bit taller.

"I pilot the Jackal Knight," Bakura responded. He gestured toward the distant elevators just as the crowd parted enough to let Joey get a look at the towering mech on the gantry rising up out of the floor. True to its name, the mech resembled nothing so much as a huge, bipedal jackal in golden, faintly Egyptian-esque armor.

"Pretty impressive," Joey said, and meant it. Not as impressive as his own Red-Eyes Black Dragon, of course, but not bad.

They watched the mech as it was maneuvered smoothly from the elevator platform onto the hangar floor. The technicians surrounding the huge gantry called out cryptic commands to one another as they guided the mech toward its new resting place against the far wall of the echoing, torus-shaped bay. Joey knew that the cargo containers filled with spare parts that usually occupied the space had been shunted to another part of the station to make room for the new additions to the Duel Mecha unit.

"My mech is Gearfried the Iron Knight," Leon said. The note of pride was back in his voice, this time directed at his machine. "I flew it up from Mars Base. It was my first time in space without a proctor as co-pilot!"

Joey gaped at him. Anderson had said they were cutting training short, but he didn't think it was this bad. "You've never flown in space without an instructor as your co-pilot until _today_?" Leon shook his head, seemingly confused by the horror stamped clearly on Joey's expressive features. Joey turned to Bakura. "What about you? Ever flown solo in space before?"

"Once or twice," Bakura said calmly. "Not in a Duel Mecha, of course. Our instructors were fairly adamant about not letting us out of their sight." He gave a soft, self-deprecating little laugh. "I'm certain we'll be getting more than our fair share of opportunities soon enough, now that we're on Mars Station. Isn't that right, Captain Wheeler?"

"Yeah, but you'll be gettin' 'em while some alien bastard is trying to blow you into eensy little pieces," Joey said. He rubbed at the back of his neck. "Take it from me, that ain't the best time to be tryin' to remember your basic flight training."

"Only one thing for it." He shook his head. "We're gonna have to get you two out on the practice run, pronto." He cast another thoughtful look around. "Eh, you got any idea where your Anchors have gotten off to?"

Bakura smiled. "I believe they may be touring the station. Lt. Kaiba said --"

"Lt. Kai-- ? Oh. You mean Mokuba?"

"I believe he said that was his given name, yes."

"Okay," Joey said. "We'll find your Anchors, then head out to the practice run and see how you two handle the obstacle course."

"Whatever you say, Captain," Bakura said easily. Beside him, Leon grinned widely, obviously excited about the prospect of taking his mech out again.

Watching them, Joey suppressed a groan. What the hell was Command thinking, sending these two into battle with their training only partially complete? Looking at Leon, so young and so eager to prove himself as a pilot, Joey felt his resolve harden. They weren't ready for battle, but he was going to do everything in his power to make sure they got there. Whatever happened, he didn't want their blood on his hands…

-------------------

In the cramped office on E-ring, Duke set a plastic carry-all onto the cluttered desk and grinned at his fellow technician. "Who's your favorite person in the whole wide world?"

Gears, bent over her datalink, spared him an unfocused glance. "Uh… Dark Magician?"

Duke groaned. "I said _person_, not mech!"

She blinked at him, obviously not getting his point. Duke clapped a hand dramatically to his forehead, temporarily mussing his carefully coiffed hair, then slumped onto the only other chair in the office. "I come bearing steamed pork buns and garlic chicken, and this is the thanks I get? Sheesh. No appreciation! None whatsoever."

He was combing his artfully disarranged bangs back into place when she finally finished whatever she had been working on and looked up at him, again. "Oh! When did you get back? Hey, what smells so good?" She popped up from her chair and, leaning over the desk, began digging through the carry-all. "Ooh! Buns! Yum."

Duke rolled his eyes. "So… What's got you so fascinated over there?"

"Hmm?" She paused, bun halfway to her lips. "Oh. Specifications for the new Duel Mecha."

"I should've known." He helped himself to a container of hot and sour soup. "So, how do they look?"

She sighed, nibbling on the fluffy steamed bread. "Rushed. I'm not too sure how they'll stand up to heavy use, much less battle."

Well, _that_ wasn't good… Duke reached over and turned one of the two work station screens around to face him, then called up the specs for a quick look-see of his own. After a few minutes, he was forced to agree. "Jeez. Look at the I-values on these two… Jackal Knight is pretty impressive, nearly as high as Dark Magician, but Gearfried--"

"Yeah. I know."

"And his pilot is, what? Sixteen?" Duke shook his head. "What the hell are they thinking, sending us a kid that young?"

She blinked at him again. "He's really that young?"

_Of course_ she hadn't paid any attention to the pilot stats. Not when there were mecha to fuss over. He rolled his eyes again. "Well, his picture sure looks young." He shrugged. "He's probably eighteen, though. I think you have to be at least that age to enlist."

Neither of them said anything for a moment, and neither took another bite of their food, despite the tantalizing aromas wafting around them. Finally, Duke shook off the melancholy mood and reached for the screen again. "Why don't we see what our new pilots are up to?"

A few deft touches on the control pad brought up the duty roster. He was a bit surprised to see that the rookies were active; they and their mecha were off-station. He raised an eyebrow. "Hey, looks like the new guys are out on the practice run. Want to take a look?"

"Sure, why not?" She picked up her chopsticks and grabbed a bite of chicken while he messed with the controls a bit more. When he had the feed adjusted to his satisfaction, he sent the signal to her work station so they could both watch the live video from the control center.

Chewing thoughtfully on a mouthful of steamed rice, Duke watched the new Duel Mecha as they maneuvered through the practice run. At first they were doing pretty good for newbies, and he divided his attention almost equally between the vidscreen and his food. On the other side of the partnership desk, Gears did much the same, though she continued working on her datalink, as well.

"Whoops!" Duke yelped, glancing up from his mu shu pork just in time to watch Gearfried bobble a bit as Jackal Knight blasted past him in a sudden burst of acceleration. For a moment, the first mech tipped on its axis and almost flipped onto its head. While it was true there was no real "up" or "down" in space, on the practice run pilots were expected to maintain a certain orientation, and Gearfried's pilot had almost lost it completely.

Gears looked up. "Huh?"

"Gearfried almost did a headstand out there," Duke said. Absently, he twirled a strand of his black hair around his index finger, his gaze locked on the competition unfolding on the screen. "Looks like Jackal's going to beat him on the speed course."

She glanced at the screen. "Looks like he did," she said, as Jackal Knight sailed past the finish line well ahead of the other mech. A moment later, their Guardian Mech soared into camera range as Red-Eyes directed them toward the next part of the practice run. "Betcha he comes out the winner on the obstacles, too."

"That's a sucker's bet, Gears."

"So …you're taking it, then?"

He flicked her a dangerous look. "I have dice, and I'm not afraid to use them."

"Ooh!" She mock-shivered, then grinned. "Okay, okay. I take it back."

"Suuuure you do." Duke would've continued the friendly banter, but the mecha were heading into the obstacles and he found himself holding his breath as he watched them maneuver through what was a difficult course even for more experienced pilots. He wasn't sure these rookies could handle it.

Less than a minute later, he was proved right as the novice pilots nearly collided as they attempted to round a tricky turn. Jackal Knight slewed around drunkenly, attitude thrusters firing as the pilot sought desperately to avoid a collision with the other mech, then attempted to straighten out his course. Gearfried rammed into the buoy marking the turn. He ended up clinging upside down to the buoy as both it and its impromptu passenger drifted off the 'track.' Red-Eyes quickly went to retrieve the wayward mech.

"I haven't even finished calibrating my datalink to receive their telemetry and those idiot pilots are already breaking my mecha!" Gears was on her feet, shouting at the vidscreen.

Duke shook with laughter. "That didn't take long."

She glared at him. "What?"

"Time to arrival on-station and you claiming them as 'your' mecha." He grinned and pretended to check his watch. "I think you just set a new record."

"Oh, shut up. Or I'll make you help me recalibrate them when they're safely back in the hangar bay."

"AI is _your_ specialty, not mine." He snorted. "Besides, after the last time, you said you had to redo all my calibrations yourself. Remember?"

"If you want something done right…"

"At least they can handle themselves well enough to evac, should it become necessary." He stretched out a long arm and snagged another pork bun. "Thank goodness. I'd hate to be the Guardian on duty when Gearfried has to recertify…" He trailed off as he noticed her suddenly frozen expression.

"Uh-oh," Duke said, staring at Gears' sudden grimace. She looked as if she had bitten into a sour thought. His own expression shifted to mirror hers. "Oh, don't tell me--"

"Did you _have_ to mention recertification?"

"_Please_ tell me that doesn't mean what I think it does."

Gears scrunched her eyes closed and ducked a bit as if anticipating a blow. "You know I can pilot a mech _literally_ only to save my life, right?"

Duke briefly considered pounding his head on the desk. If there had been any uncluttered space on the desktop, he might have tried it. It was a requirement that every person assigned to Mars Station be able to pilot a force-suit, the basic mecha which formed the bulk of the manned forces stationed there. The reason was a simple one. Instead of vulnerable escape pods -- pods that would be at the mercy of an invading force, a painful lesson learned in the aftermath of Jupiter Station -- the escape vehicles of choice were the mecha. So all station personnel had to be able to pilot at least a force-suit, and had to be recertified routinely.

"Yeah, I know." For all her skill and knowledge with the inner workings of mecha, Gears was a dreadful pilot. "As a pilot, you're a great technician."

"Oh, thanks a lot."

He scowled at her. "You've scheduled a recert, right?"

"Uh..."

"_Gears_."

She looked sheepish. "Okay! So, I'm past due for recertification..."

It was official. The universe hated him. Feeling the vein in his left temple starting to throb, he pressed the heels of both hands over his eyes for a minute and thought of his 'happy place.' There were lots of dice there. For some reason, that always made him feel better.

When he felt he could cope again, Duke lowered his hands and pinned her with a Look. The Devlin Look was nowhere near as legendary as the Anderson Glower, but he was young yet. He was working on it.

"I could take you out on the course and let you brush up your skills," Duke offered finally, trying not to sound as if he were offering himself up for a sacrificial barbeque.

Internally, he cringed. To a skilled mech jockey such as himself, Gears' fumbling attempts at piloting were nearly enough to cause physical pain. In fact, the last time he had tried to help her, he had lost his lunch when her rough handling overloaded the training mech's inertial dampeners. He had taken the controls just in time to avoid a collision with the station. The _station_. Duke sighed. She was never going to win any awards for finesse, but maybe, with a great deal of practice, she could at least learn to aim for the planet.

"No, that's okay." She met his lopsided grin with one of her own. "I remember the last time, too. I'll be fine. I'll just schedule a time on the graveyard shift when most of the station is asleep. Okay?"

"Mm. Maybe you can get Captain Barstow as your Guardian Mech. You had her the last time you certified, right?"

"Yeah. I like her. She doesn't yell at me when I go off-course and she has to retrieve me. Much, anyway." Gears looked a bit disgruntled -- and sheepish. She obviously had no illusions about her piloting skills, or lack of them, either. "Right now, I have to go see how badly my new mecha have been traumatized by those… those…"

"Idiot pilots?" he offered, suppressing another chuckle.

"You said it!" She gathered up her datalink and dashed out of the office. "Thanks for lunch!"

He knew she would bypass the lift for the emergency ladder just down the corridor from their doorway. She rarely had the patience to wait for the lift, even in non-critical situations. Then again, when did Gears ever consider anything to do with "her mecha" non-critical?

When the door slid open again less than five minutes later, Duke was bent over his work station, scheduling Gears' recertification test, himself. He knew that, when he next asked her about it, she would have some perfectly logical excuse for "forgetting" it. Besides, 'if you want something done right…' "Back so soon--?" he began, only to break off in surprise when he realized it wasn't his office mate returning sooner than expected. "Oh. Captain Kaiba. How can I help you?"

Seto thrust out his hand and snapped, "My remote."

Duke stared at him a second, then leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. He quirked an eyebrow. "I didn't hear the magic word."

Blue eyes with the intensity of laser beams threatened to bore twin holes right through him, but Duke held Seto's angry gaze without flinching. Seto's extended hand clenched into a fist, then flexed, as if the pilot had forced himself to relax it. His lips barely parted so that he could force out a strained, "…Please."

"No problem." Duke rose from his chair and took his time wandering over to the shelf where the RID rested in its protective case. "It'll just take a minute for me to activate, then it's all yours, Captain."

"I'll try to contain my excitement," Seto responded, his voice a low growl.

Duke figured he had pushed the temperamental captain as far he safely could, so he worked quickly and handed over the remote interface device only a few seconds later. Seto took it without comment, turned smartly on his heel, and stalked out the door.

"Wear it in good health," he called after the departing captain's stiff back. Unsurprisingly, Captain Kaiba didn't bother to reply.


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

_Kazuki Kaiba estate_  
_Just outside Nagoya, Japan _

Yami awoke to find himself lying in bed, in his old room in his father's mansion. As he lay blinking fuzzily at the distant ceiling, he reflected that he had never really thought of the stuffy old place as belonging to both his parents, even before their divorce. Perhaps it was because his mother had always seemed to prefer a canvas tent on some remote archeological dig site, or maybe it was simply that his father's personality was so indelibly stamped into every stone and tile of the house he had built.

For a moment, Yami lay there wondering how he had gotten from the shuttle to the mansion. The last thing he remembered was splitting pain stabbing into his temples… and then blessed darkness. With a low groan, he rolled onto his side and slowly sat up. He felt oddly sluggish, as if his hangover were only now deciding to catch up with him. He scrubbed both hands over his face, then raked his fingers through his hair. He found himself wondering if Yugi was all right…

Yami shook himself. He had to stop dwelling on that. He didn't have time for personal entanglements, right now. Duty called. He really had no choice but to answer.

As he swung his legs off the bed, something ghosted against his senses, like a faintly heard, almost subliminal voice. Yami froze. Had he actually heard something or…?

There it was again, the whisper of a voice just at the edge of consciousness. Yami shivered. What the hell was going on? Was he really losing his mind? He rubbed his hands over his arms, where the fine hairs were standing on end. Perhaps Anzu had decided to haunt him, to punish him for letting her die in his stead.

…Or maybe he was just imagining things.

Rising a bit stiffly, Yami realized that someone had removed his tattered jeans and replaced them with a pair of silk pajamas. His bare torso was covered in bruises from his motorcycle crash, but the worst of the abrasions had been treated and covered with fresh bandages. Barefoot, he padded into the en suite to splash cool water on his face and swallow a couple of analgesic tablets from the medicine cabinet. When he returned to the bedroom, he noticed the suit that had been laid out for him on the settee at the foot of the bed. How like his father to dictate, down to the understated navy-blue tie, what Yami should wear.

He expelled his breath in a harsh sigh and muttered under his breath, "Welcome home, Yami."

---------------------

Dressed in the charcoal gray, designer suit, his dark-red hair as tamed as it ever got, Yami sauntered downstairs, ready to beard the lion in his den. But when he came down the grand, sweeping staircase into the foyer, he found Suit Number Two waiting for him. The man bowed politely.

"Your father is expecting you at Kaiba Corp, sir."

"Very well."

Suit Number Two handed him his coat and a new phone to replace the one Yami had accidentally trashed on Mars. "The helicopter is waiting outside."

Yami suppressed a groan. He was stiff and sore, and wanted to stay in bed for at least a week. Instead, he had to go face his father's plans for his future, then figure out a way to infiltrate his own company without anyone getting wise to his true purpose. And the day had only just begun.

"Fine," Yami snapped, shrugging into the coat and jamming the phone into his pocket. "Let's go."

----------------------

The Kaiba Corp Industrial Complex was exactly as Yami remembered it. At the center was the main executive tower, fortified by special shock absorbers and reinforced struts to withstand the earthquakes which struck Japan. Surrounding it were smaller, lower structures housing various company divisions, including research and development. In the distance loomed the huge vehicle assembly building where the Duel Mecha were constructed and tested before being shipped to Mars.

With the recent step-up in production, the newer mecha were being assembled at the Kaiba Corp facility on Mars, saving on production and shipping costs, as well as decreasing the lead time from initial design to delivery of the final product. While he thought it was a good idea in theory, and that it certainly made sense from a corporate standpoint, Yami had seen the reports coming out of the Mars facility and had some concerns about the quality of the work being done there. Perhaps he could talk to his father about tightening quality controls… He grimaced. His father would probably tell him it was none of his concern. No doubt Kazuki Kaiba had some loftier position in mind for his son -- an executive position in sales, perhaps. Nothing where Yami would have to get his hands dirty or his suit wrinkled. He glanced down at his impeccable suit jacket and had a horrifying vision of being forced to wear it, and its ilk, every day for the foreseeable future. It wasn't a future he relished.

The helicopter touched down on the private helipad atop the central tower, forcing him out of his unhappy reverie. Yami and his stoic companion ducked beneath the rotors and ran for the door being held open by one of his father's assistants. Inside, Yami took a moment to attempt to smooth his hair, which had been whipped into disarray by the rotor wash. After a few seconds, he gave it up as a lost cause and followed the assistant as she led the way through a veritable maze of plushly carpeted corridors. His polished, too-stiff wingtip shoes pinched his feet, his head throbbed, and his bruises ached. Suit Number Two kept pace beside him, guarding him -- or preventing him from escaping. Yami's frown deepened.

It had been nearly two years since Yami had last walked through these hushed corridors. In that time, there had been some definite changes. Once the executive suite had housed what amounted to a tribute to Gozaburo's son, case after polished case filled with Seto's trophies -- mostly second place, Yami thought with a smirk. Now… Yami stared at the array of gleaming, carefully displayed awards spread out before him.

All the trophies he had won, in everything from motocross to marksmanship to mech racing, resided in the cases, set out for all who entered these offices to see. At intervals between the trophy cases, larger-than-life holosolid portraits of himself -- attired in mud-spattered racing leathers, or his SSDF flightsuit, or an expensive suit very like the one he was currently wearing -- smiled down at him from the walls. He remembered the portraits; his father had created them to display proudly at home. Now, they were here at Kaiba Corp's main offices. He paused before the holosolid of himself in his pilot's uniform. He wondered exactly when his father had added that one; he hadn't thought his father would want to acknowledge Yami's stint in the Defense Force, much less put it on public exhibit. Would he ever understand his father? He shook his head. Probably not in this lifetime.

The last time he had walked down this particular corridor, he hadn't returned. At least, not by using the corridor. No, in his very first gestalt with his Duel Mecha, he had left through the massive back entrance; the man who returned had been profoundly changed by that first encounter. Just as the man he was now was a very different person from the reckless, convinced-of-his-own-immortality youth he had been just two years ago.

The corridor ended at a 't' intersection; he automatically turned left. And came up short.

Standing there before him, looking for all the world as if she had been waiting for him, her head tilted to one side in an achingly-familiar gesture and a gentle smile on her lovely face, was Anzu. His heart spasmed once in recognition, a thrill of shock and alarm -- here, at last, was the ghost he had long been expecting, finally come to haunt him -- electrifying his nerves before he noticed the slight translucence around the edges that told him she was actually a holosolid projection. In a small alcove set into the wall, a holographic projector created the life-size image of his betrothed. A tasteful bronze plaque on the wall stated the dates of her birth and death; underneath them was a short description of her heroic action at Jupiter Station.

Yami stepped forward and covered her name with his hand. His eyes burned. She had struggled against death, forestalling the inevitable long enough to pull him from gestalt. Perhaps, if she had focused that incredible strength of will on fighting for her own survival, she might have lived. Instead, she had given up her life, for him. He pressed his palm against the raised characters that formed her name and whispered softly, "…_Anzu_."

"Miss Mazaki would have been a fitting match for you," a deep, familiar voice stated thoughtfully from behind him.

"Father," Yami acknowledged without turning around.

"So, you are finally ready to give up this pilot foolishness and take up your true destiny," Kazuki Kaiba said, coming to stand beside his son. "My patience has been rewarded, at last. I am pleased."

Struggling to rein in his irritation, Yami looked for the artist's signature on the holosolid. The mark of a familiar artist's seal, stamped in red "ink" in the corner of the 'solid, caught him by surprise.

"You?" Yami asked, finally turning to look at his father. "You made this portrait of Anzu?"

"She was an admirable young woman, with many excellent qualities. I would not have selected her to be your intended wife, otherwise," Kazuki Kaiba stated. "Her sacrifice at Jupiter Station only confirmed what I knew."

"How can you be so cold about it?" Yami choked out. "She gave her_ life_--"

"I am grateful for what she did for you, Yami. How could I not be?" Kazuki gazed at his son, an unreadable emotion flickering in his eyes. They were almost of a height, and Yami got a good look at his father's expression. Even then, he still couldn't decipher it. "But my admiration for her doesn't change the fact that she died. There's nothing more she can do for you. It is time to put aside whatever dreams led you into space, and take up your rightful place -- here, at my side."

Yami clenched his fists. He would storm out of here willingly, but for... _Damn_. _Damn it all to hell_.

He took a deep breath, forced a complacent smile on his face and looked at his father.

"Which department did you want me to take over?"

"Despite what you may think of me, my son, I'm not a complete ogre." His father favored him with the barest hint of a smile. "While you may not be piloting any longer, I thought to allow you to continue the work you were doing on Mars Station, heading Kaiba Corp's enhanced mecha division for me. I know you like the mecha divisions best, after all."

Yami glanced at his father in surprise. He felt a momentary regret that he couldn't be totally honest with his father about why he had left Mars Station -- about what he was really doing. Still, Yami had to hand it to his old man. His father's attempt to make the transition easier on him put Yami exactly where he needed to be to complete his true mission. Yami wondered if his father would be proud of what he was doing -- if ever Yami could admit it to him freely.

"I trust you are feeling up to assuming your new responsibilities, Yami," Kazuki said. "Doctor Uzuki assures me that your injuries are not life-threatening." His gaze sharpened. "What have you been doing on that station to end up in such shape -- bruised from head to toe and passing out on the way to Earth?"

Attempting to ignore the pain of stiff and sore muscles, Yami drew himself up to his full height. "It's nothing, Father. I assure you I am quite capable of fulfilling my duties."

A fleeting smile of approval graced his father's usually stern features. "I knew you would not disappoint me." He began to walk, Yami falling into step beside him.

"Rafael will show you to your new office," Kazuki continued, indicating Suit Number Two with the barest flick of his hand. "Take the opportunity to familiarize yourself with the workings of the division. There will be a press conference at two o'clock. I expect you to be there."

"Yes, Father."

"Do try to do something with your hair before then, Yami." Kazuki's own hair was of course, perfectly coiffed, every black strand neatly in place. His dark gaze flickered over Yami's attire. "You were correct to change your tie, however. That one is much more suitable than the blue."

Yami's hand went automatically to the deep purple tie he had, in a fit of momentary rebellion, substituted for the navy-blue tie which had been selected for him. He opened his mouth to respond, but his father was already striding off down the corridor toward his own office. A rueful smile lifting the corners of his mouth, Yami shook his head and turned to Rafael.

"Lead on," he said.

Rafael's stoic expression didn't change. "Yes, sir."

-----------------------

_Domino City  
__Arcadia Planitia  
__Kaiba Corporation Colony, Mars_

Yugi had cleaned up the kitchen, opened the game shop, and had just typed the name "Yami Kaiba" into a search engine on the shop's computer when his grandfather appeared at the front door. Yugi looked up with a smile. "Hey, Grandpa! Did you have a nice time at the expo?"

Solomon Mutou returned the smile, if a little tiredly. "It was fine, Yugi. I've got some swag for you in my luggage." He continued on through the shop, dragging his heavy suitcase. Yugi hurried out from behind the counter to help. "Ah. Thank you, m'boy," Solomon said as Yugi took over struggling with his luggage. "That thing gets heavier every year."

"No problem, Grandpa." Yugi panted his way upstairs, dragging the bulky suitcase behind him. He deposited the suitcase in his grandpa's room, then bounced back downstairs in time to see his grandpa frowning at the computer monitor.

"What's this?" Solomon asked, pointing at the screen. "Why are you researching the Kaiba family?"

"No reason," Yugi said, reaching over and deleting the search box. "Just curious, I guess."

Solomon shrugged. "Nothing wrong with a little healthy curiosity." He smiled at his grandson. "Nothing wrong with a little healthy exercise, either. So, how about running an errand for your old grandpa?"

Yugi resisted the urge to sigh. "Sure, Grandpa."

Twenty minutes later, Yugi was walking home from the gourmet coffee shop with his grandpa's latest order of Sumatran beans tucked safely under his arm. Ordinarily, he wouldn't have minded the walk, but he was still sore from his run-in with Yami's motorcycle, so he decided to take a short-cut through an alley that would cut a good ten minutes off his route.

All was going well until he suddenly found his path blocked by a strangely-dressed figure. The man was taller than Yugi (though there was nothing unusual about that), and elaborately dressed in a crimson suit with a matching top hat. A wide, black-and-white striped bow tie and cummerbund completed the decidedly odd look. The man's hair was slicked back, and his features were hidden by a large, striped mask. He pointed one hand at Yugi in a theatrical gesture and intoned, "Get ready, little Yugi!"

_Little?_ Yugi frowned. He knew he was short; why did people have to keep harping on it? Did they think he would suddenly forget and start believing he was tall if he wasn't reminded often enough? Shaking his head, he moved to go around the weirdo.

The strange man moved to again block his way. "You can't escape me that easily!"

_Oh, boy. _Yugi began backing slowly away, hoping to put enough distance between him and this whacko that he could make a run for it. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Stop right where you are, Yugi Mutou!" the man demanded.

"Why should I?" Yugi retorted, still inching his way back toward the mouth of the alley. Just a little farther…

"I challenge you to a duel!" The stranger thrust his arm into the air. The device strapped to his wrist hummed to life and a virulently red Kaiba Corp logo flashed briefly overhead.

Yugi felt the knot of tension in his stomach ease. The guy was a duelist! That explained what he wanted with Yugi, who had met some rather eccentric duelists while playing in some of the larger tournaments. It also explained how this stranger knew who Yugi was. After his latest win, he had been crowned "King of Games" in Industrial Illusions' planetwide competition. There were probably few in the gaming world who didn't know who he was, now.

"Uh, sorry," Yugi said. He had stopped backing away, and he would have enjoyed a duel, but… "I'm afraid I can't accept your challenge. You see, I don't have my duel disk with me. Or even my deck."

The stranger looked stunned by the revelation. Crestfallen, he asked, "You… don't?"

"Nope." Yugi offered a sheepish grin, flushing a bit with embarrassment. "My duel disk is broken. I, uh, kinda left it on one of the kitchen chairs at home and my grandpa …sat on it." To be fair, it had been an accident. And Grandpa hadn't been too happy about it, either, since it meant sitting on cushions for about a week afterward. "He's going to get it fixed, but he's been really busy and --" Yugi shrugged helplessly. "Sorry."

"I…see." The man seemed to shrink inside his odd clothing. He let the arm bearing the duel disk fall limply to his side, where it swung back and forth like a forgotten pendulum.

"I'm really sorry--"

"No, no. It's fine. I …understand." Duel disk still humming quietly in stand-by mode, the stranger turned and trudged back into the shadows at the far end of the alleyway.

Yugi watched him for a minute, then scurried back out onto the crowded thoroughfare. It might take a little longer for him to reach home, but… He shook his head, not quite sure whether to laugh or freak out about his close encounter of the weird kind. He supposed it was the price of his new fame, but he didn't think he would ever get used to it.

With a final shake of his head, and a rather shaky laugh, he hurried toward home.

------------------------------

_Kaiba Corporation Interplanetary Headquarters  
__Nagoya, Japan_

Once they had reached his new office, Yami had given Rafael a set of instructions before sending him on his way. The man had informed him that he would return at two o'clock to escort Yami to the press conference, then gone to carry out his assigned tasks.

Alone, Yami took a moment to look around. The office was well-appointed, with thick carpeting and tastefully understated furnishings. Three walls were paneled in real mahogany polished to a rich, reddish-brown gleam; the fourth was a spotless wall of glass overlooking the immaculate park far below. In front of the window wall, a large antique desk sat waiting for him. In sharp contrast to the soft patina of teak and mahogany, the computer atop the desk shone with chrome and black plastic. He locked the doors and drew a compact device from the inner pocket of his jacket. The device beeped once, quietly, as he activated it, and a tiny light on the upper face flashing green. Moving swiftly and efficiently, he scanned the entire room with the device, paying special attention to the lamps, windows, and electronics such as the work station on his desk.

When he was satisfied that the office was free of surveillance devices, he went to the desk and activated the computer. He spent a few minutes browsing through files and familiarizing himself with his new department. After all, it was important that he be seen to be actively filling the position his father had chosen for him. No one must suspect what he was really here to do.

Finally, Yami settled down to his real work. First, he used a data chip to install a stealth program onto his work station. The program would cover his tracks and ensure that no one could trace his actions within the company's systems back to him. Pulling that chip from the computer's 'in' port, he inserted one that would install a ferret program. The ferret was designed to seek out any data matching the parameters already encoded in the program. Then it would download that information to the external memory cache he hooked into the back of the machine. The memory cache was a small, rectangular device about the size of an old-fashioned matchbox, though considerably thinner, and easily hidden from view. He would be able to go about his business while the ferret searched out files containing references to the Dark Magician mech …and Jupiter Station.

Yami's hand trembled a bit as he pulled it back from the machine. His thoughts turned back to the day before, when General Anderson had called him into his office and delivered the bombshell that tore Yami's world apart.

----------------------

_General Anderson's expression was even more taciturn that usual as he waved Yami to a seat in one of the two visitor's chairs before his massive oak desk. "I assume, Major," Anderson said, "that you are aware of the rumors circulating about an informer on the station."_

_"Yes, sir." Yami raised an eyebrow. "But such rumors have been making the rounds since--"_

_"They're true."_

_"Sir… As grave as this news is, what does it have to do with my department?" He wasn't a hot shot pilot anymore; he was just a desk jockey, tucked away and nearly forgotten in the depths of the station's lower rings._

_"I have reason to believe that the informer is someone in the Duel Mecha division," Anderson said gravely. His steely gray eyes were somber, but unwavering, awaiting Yami's reaction._

_"You can't suspect one of the pilots! Sir, we… _They_ risk their lives everyday! Not one of them would--"_

_"No, no." Anderson raised a hand to ward off further protests. "Neither the pilots nor their Anchors are under suspicion, Major. I believe it's someone in one of the support offices -- most probably, in mech support."_

_Yami's department. His eyes widened. "General… Sir, may I ask how you arrived at this conclusion?"_

_"This." Anderson pushed a thin manila folder across the desk. "I'm sure I needn't tell you, Major, that what you're about to see is top secret. It's to go no farther than the confines of this office."_

_"Yes, sir." Curiosity warring with trepidation, Yami pulled the folder to him and slowly opened it. He read the top sheet of paper inside, his frown growing more pronounced with each passing second. When he reached the end of the page, he flipped quickly to the next. By the time he had finished reading the entire report, his hands were shaking so badly he could barely hold the pages. _

_"Is this…? This is true, sir?" Yami choked on the words, the paper crumpling between his fingers. "There's no possibility that this is a mistake?"_

_"None." Anderson's voice was kind but firm. "I'm sorry."_

_The pages rattled in Yami's hand. When he looked up, his eyes were haunted. "This says that there was a flaw in the Dark Magician's armor…A flaw that allowed that Orichalcos soldier's shot to take me out in one blow…" And that meant the alien's "lucky shot" had been no such thing._

_Anderson, silent, watched him process the revelation._

_"It was a design flaw? " Yami asked, finally._

_"It was a _known_ design flaw," Anderson responded. "Someone knew about it, and knew about it soon enough to tell our alien 'friends' all about it. That was no 'lucky shot' that took you out, Major. The enemy knew _exactly_ where to aim."_

_"Anzu didn't have to die?" Yami's voice was barely audible, the words forced past the choking tightness in his throat. "Why did…? Why didn't_ we_ know about this?"_

_"Someone buried the reports, Yami," Anderson said. He gestured to the folder lying on the desk between them. "Not just one report. Every damn mention of the actual chink in the Dark Magician's armor…Buried, shunted aside, hidden. Until it was too late."_

_Yami's eyes burned. "Who knew about this?"_

_"That's what I'd like to know." Anderson's gray eyes were hard. "A cover-up of this magnitude would require more than just one man on-station."_

_Trying to think through the shock and grief that had temporarily frozen his mind, Yami said, "There has to be someone at Kaiba Corp, sir. It's the only way…"_

_Anderson nodded. "I think you're right, Major." He leaned toward Yami, lowering his voice to a dangerous growl. "So, tell me. Do you want a chance to take the bastards down?"_

----------------------

Yami had accepted that chance, even though it meant also accepting leaving the station -- and appearing to leave the service -- under a dark cloud of suspicion. No one could know the true reason for his abrupt departure; his mission was too important to compromise over something as trivial as mere ego, even if it hurt to contemplate what Joey and his other friends must think of him, now.

Things had been so much simpler when he was a pilot. He sighed. It had been over a year since he had entered a gestalt. There were times when he missed the thrill of merging his mind with that of the AI, becoming the Dark Magician, and blasting into space. But then he would remember the horror of that last flight, of being pulled back into himself only to watch Anzu die in his arms.

He trembled with the force of the memory. The stench of blood and burning electronics choked him, and he retched, gagging on air. His skin felt cold, then hot by turns, goosebumps racing across his flesh. Gasping, he clutched the arms of his chair, feeling his heart racing as if it would burst. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't see… his vision was spiraling down into a gray tunnel. Yami doubled over, one hand clutching at his heart. He felt as if he were dying.

It took him a moment to realize that the buzzing sound he was hearing was not just a ringing in his ears, but the sound of the intercom on his desk. Yami fought to breathe past the constriction in his chest, fought to force himself to some semblance of outward calm. After what seemed like forever, but was probably only a few minutes, he was able to straighten in his chair and reach for the intercom.

"Yes?" His voice sounded rough to his ears; he cleared his throat and tried again. "What is it?"

"Sir, there's someone here to see you," the voice of his secretary, whom he had seen only briefly, responded. "Mr. Gansley."

Gansley? Yami struggled to think clearly. Why did that name sound familiar? He took a deep breath, relieved to feel the panic receding. It wouldn't do to let anyone see him in such a state. That was one thing his long-standing rivalry with Seto had taught him unequivocally: never show weakness to anyone.

His emotions back under control, he assumed a composed expression and hit a button on the desk top to unlock the doors. In a far steadier voice, he said, "Send him in."

"Yes, sir."

A moment later, the door opened and Gansley entered the office. Seeing him, Yami remembered where he had seen the man's name -- in the overview of the department. Gansley had been head of the department before Yami's elevation to the post. That meant that Gansley had been relegated to a lesser position within the department. Judging by the man's insincere manner and smarmy smile, Yami rather doubted that Gansley was taking his demotion in stride.

"Mr. Kaiba," Gansley said, bowing. "It is an honor to meet you, sir."

Somehow, Yami doubted that. He forced a polite nod, anyway. "I am looking forward to working with all of you in the enhanced mecha division."

"It's good of you to say so, sir." Gansley, a stocky, overweight man in his early fifties, looked as if he had swallowed something sour. "If there is anything I can do to help you in any way…"

"I'll be sure to let you know." Yami studied the other man narrowly. Gansley was doing a poor job of disguising the enmity beneath his obsequiousness. "Don't let me keep you, Mr. Gansley. I'm certain you have plenty of work that requires your attention."

Gansley stiffened. "Of course. Well, I'll -- "

At that moment, the intercom buzzed again. "Sir, Mr. Rafael is here to escort you to the press conference."

"I'll be right out," Yami said into the microphone pick-up, then switched the machine off. He glanced at Gansley. "I intend to inspect the labs and other departments, Mr. Gansley. I'm sure we will be seeing one another again, soon."

"Of course, sir." Gansley bowed politely, as he was herded out the door. "I look forward to it."

_Suuuure, you do_, Yami thought. _Almost as much as I look forward to this press conference._

Forcing a pleasant expression onto his face, Yami dismissed Gansley from his thoughts. Rafael met him with a respectful bow and, at a nod from Yami, turned to lead him to where the cameras (and his father) awaited.

-----------------

_Domino City  
__Arcadia Planitia  
__Kaiba Corporation Colony, Mars_

Yugi had made it back to the shop without further incident. Now, his grandpa was upstairs in the apartment kitchen brewing himself a fresh pot of Sumatran roast, and Yugi was minding the store. Since there were no customers in the shop at the moment, he decided to use the opportunity to continue his interrupted web search. He pulled up a new search box and keyed in Yami's name. A few seconds later, he stared in surprise (and a bit of dismay) at the results. There were… a lot of them.

In addition to news articles, there were fan sites with photos and facts gleaned from official sources. There were more than a few fan sites with some rather… interesting artwork. After staring wide-eyed at a particularly realistic painting of Yami wearing nothing but a smile, Yugi bookmarked a couple of _those_ sites for later perusal.

Deciding to concentrate on the news sites for now, he flipped back a couple of screens to an article he had spotted earlier. It was an announcement from two years ago about the successful first mission of the newly-formed Duel Mecha squadron of the SSDF and featured brief profiles of each of the new pilots. Yugi followed the link to a close-up photo of a smiling Yami in an SSDF flightsuit. Reading the information beneath the picture, Yugi learned that Captain Yami Kaiba, pilot of the Dark Magician Duel Mech, had been born on Earth to Kazuki Kaiba and Amelia Emerson-Kaiba twenty-five years ago, that he had earned an MBA from the University of Tokyo, and that he was a two time winner of the International Mecha Sports Cup.

Yugi sat back from the computer. Not only was Yami heir to the Kaiba fortune, he was a member of the SSDF, a mech pilot. So what had he been doing cruising around in a Martian thunderstorm and running over unsuspecting game shop employees?

Even as he pondered the perplexing question, a tiny smile quirked the corners of Yugi's mouth. He remembered their friendly bantering during the duel, the way Yami had smiled at him over a particularly good move. He recalled how easily Yami had managed to sneak up on him, and the smile turned into a fleeting grin. Then he remembered what had happened in the kitchen, when he had slipped on the step-ladder and Yami had caught him…

_He was a little breathless from the fright of his close call…and the nearness of the other man. His cheeks felt hot and his body tingled where Yami's strong arms wrapped around him. To cover his embarrassment, Yugi flashed a cheeky grin and said, "We have to stop meeting like this. People will talk."_

_Yami righted him, set him back on his feet, and smirked. "Then let's give them something to talk about," he said._

_And kissed him._

_Yugi froze. Yami's lips were warm where they brushed lightly against his, a soft butterfly kiss that left him even more breathless… and thoroughly confused. He stared up into brown eyes as seemingly startled as his own, as if Yami had surprised himself by his actions as much as he had Yugi._

Yugi shook himself, finding enough presence of mind to close his search window as the shop door opened to admit a new customer. He pasted a welcoming smile on his face and tried to concentrate on customer service. But his mind kept drifting back to the intoxicating caress of calloused fingers and silken lips.


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

_Montana Mining Corporation Factory Ship Convoy  
Somewhere in the Asteroid Belt _

"Harpy! Watch your six!"

Harpy Lady fired her maneuvering thrusters, pivoting in one of the tight turns she was famous for, and blasted an Orichalcos Soldier full in its monstrous face. She fired again, taking off half of the enemy mech's head, then arched her back to flip around into her guardian position along the right phalanx of the vehicles she and the Red-Eyes were shepherding to safety.

"Thanks for the heads-up, _Red_," she called over the pilot comm. "But call me 'harpy' again, and I'll claw out your optics."

"Love you, too, Harpy _Lady_."

She snorted, but before she could form a proper retort, a fresh volley of weapons fire demanded her full attention. She swung her gun around, gathered an enemy in her sights, and scored another direct hit, this time on the barrel chest of one of the hulking gray aliens.

"Damned ugly things," she muttered, checking the status of her firearm. The ammunition was low, the graph on her VR display starting to blink into the red. When it went solid, she uttered a low curse, holstered her gun, and summoned her rose-whip from its sheath in her forearm. Thus armed, she turned back to the convoy just in time to spot an Orichalcos Soldier taking aim at her partner. "Red-Eyes! Duck!"

The dragon mech obeyed instantly. Harpy Lady snapped her whip toward the attacking mech, wrapping the end of the whip around its neck and triggering the "thorns," durasteel barbs, which sank into the enemy's neck to hold the whip in place. A massive jolt of electricity shot from the whip into the enemy mech. The mech, almost as tall as the dragon but not as bulky and modeled on an oversized humanoid form, froze as the energy burst overloaded its systems. A final snap of the whip was enough to rip the mech's ugly head clean off its massive body. Leaving her victim resting in pieces, Harpy Lady jetted back toward the column of ships she and the others were protecting.

The remainder of the battle was a furious blur of machines of all colors and sizes, (from the towering Duel Mecha to the relatively diminutive Rescue-and-Retrieval mecha, and the Valkyrie flight in-between), gun-fire, and, when one of the Orichalcos Soldiers got in a lucky shot at the trailing ship in the convoy, a school of old-fashioned escape pods.

This far from a planetary body, the pods were sitting ducks, easy targets for the Orichalcos Soldiers to pick off at leisure. The SSDF mecha quickly intervened, racing to put themselves between the enemy and the escape pods. Rescue mecha, identifiable by their bright red armor and the white crosses prominently displayed on their torsos, began attempting to corral the pods into nets that were hastily deployed for the purpose. When an R-mech's net was full, with two or three pods nestled within, it dashed away from the battlefield to the Maxiframes waiting to retrieve them. There the net was quickly clipped onto the Maxiframe, a transport ship which bore more than a passing resemblance to a skeletonized dragonfly, leaving the R-mech free to hasten back to the battle for another cargo of escape pods.

Just when it was looking as if they had victory in their grasp, with most of the enemy mecha either destroyed or fleeing the battlefield, an Orichalcos Soldier slipped through their defenses and headed straight for the nearest Maxiframe. Over the open comm channel, Harpy Lady heard the Red-Eyes swear as he blasted after the ugly gray machine already opening fire on the hapless escape pods hanging from the exposed framework of the transport vessel.

"Oh, no, you don't!" Red-Eyes shouted, firing at the Orichalcos Soldier. He managed to get its attention, but this one seemed somehow tougher than its compatriots; it seemed to shrug off the attack, barely taking a moment to shoot at him before going back to its primary target -- the escape pods hanging from the metal "spine" of the Maxiframe. It had traded its usual projectile gun for a strange-looking weapon that shot an acid-green energy beam at the rescue ship.

Red-Eyes fired again -- and kept firing, holding down the trigger until the gun overheated and jammed. Cursing wildly, he drew back the massive gun and used it like a club, smashing it into the back of the Orichalcos Soldier's blocky, helmet-shaped head. The gun shattered. Undeterred, Red-Eyes grabbed the enemy mech by its shoulders and fired his own maneuvering jets at full thrust, powering the other mech away from the Maxiframe. The green energy beam cut off as the Orichalcos Soldier was finally forced to deal head-on with its determined opponent.

The two of them grappled, neither able to use their weapons at such close range. The Orichalcos Soldier's blank optics were glowing the same eerie, acid-green color as its energy weapon, but Red-Eyes barely had time to notice before he was thrust back from the other mech. With a roar, he transformed to full dragon-mode…

…Just as the Orichalcos Soldier fired its weapon point-blank into Red-Eyes' face. The sickly green beam enveloped him, washing out his screens in an instant. His instrumentation was going haywire, but Red-Eyes didn't notice, as the green fire of the Orichalcos Soldier's weapon penetrated the dragon's cockpit, plunged into -- and through -- the pilot's body… and vanished.

In space, the Orichalcos Soldier didn't even have time to register Harpy Lady's arrival before she snared it with her rose-whip. She hauled the monster away from Red-Eyes, then flung it straight into the sights of a hovering Valkyrie. The Valkyrie opened fire a split-second later with both of its guns. Combined with the damage the Red-Eyes had already inflicted, it was enough. The Orichalcos Soldier exploded with a satisfying violence.

Harpy Lady nodded her thanks to the Valkyrie, then turned back to the black dragon, which hadn't moved since the green energy beam had struck him. "Red-Eyes? Can you hear me?"

There was no response from the dragon's pilot.

"Red-Eyes Black Dragon! Do you copy?"

Still nothing.

"Joey?" She waited, her heart contracting with a sudden terror when the comm remained silent. "… _Joey!_"


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

_Kaiba Corporation Interplanetary Headquarters  
__Nagoya, Japan_

The press conference had gone well enough, Yami decided later, with his father speaking about a new product line the company was introducing, then announcing Yami's addition to the company as vice-president in charge of the enhanced mecha division. The pride in Kazuki Kaiba's voice as he introduced his son to the waiting reporters was unmistakable, even to Yami.

Afterward, he had returned to his new office to go over documents and write up a brief proposal that he sent to his father's email. The reports he had seen while still on Mars Station had made him concerned with the operations of the Kaiba Corp facilities on Mars, and what he was seeing now only made that concern worse. But he would need to go to Mars, tour the factory in person, before he could be certain if his fears had any real basis.

An inspection tour would also be good cover for his other reason for wanting to go to Mars -- to ferret out the traitor in Kaiba Corp's ranks.

Determinedly, Yami ignored the fact that it would also give him an excuse to see Yugi again, as well.

He was still at his computer, scowling over a spreadsheet, when someone knocked at his door. It opened before he could react, and Rafael bowed the senior Kaiba into the office. Yami's father smiled at him.

"Still hard at work, I see," Kazuki said, with quiet approval. "I am very pleased with your performance today, Yami."

"I haven't really done anything…" Yami snapped his mouth closed, biting off the rest of his instinctive protest. Was he really going to object to rare praise from his father? More the fool, he. He shook his head at his own folly, standing to give his father a proper bow in greeting. "Is there something you need me to do, Father?"

"Only to accompany me to dinner," Kazuki said, the corners of his mouth turning up faintly. Yami didn't think he had ever seen his father smile so much, or so often. Certainly not at him. He wondered briefly if he should mark the date on his calendar. "I thought we might celebrate."

"If you wish," Yami said, with a faint smile of his own. "I would be honored, sir."

"Then, let us go. I have selected an excellent restaurant…"

Yami and his father left the office walking side-by-side in a companionable silence. Like matching shadows in their black suits, somber expressions half-hidden behind dark glasses, Rafael and another of his father's bodyguards followed a few discreet steps behind them.

--------------------

_SSDF Orbital Station 002  
__Mars orbit_

Her worried gaze pinned to the monitor screen in front of her, Mai watched unhappily as an R-mech retrieval unit towed the unresponsive Red-Eyes Black Dragon in to the station's recovery platform. Once the Red-Eyes was safely down on the platform, and the atmospheric containment force-field had been sealed, a medical trauma team rushed from the lifts, swarming the supine mech. A technician keyed open the chest plastron and, a few minutes later, the trauma team had the pilot out of his sling and strapped onto a stretcher for transport. Mai's heart clenched painfully as she saw them begin CPR.

Hugging herself for comfort, she turned away from the screen, unable to watch any longer. It wasn't like she could see, anyway -- unshed tears clouded her vision, and she squeezed her eyes tightly shut, determined not to make a fool of herself in public. Besides, she had never quite mastered the art of aesthetic weeping; instead, she always ended up with a red, puffy face, runny nose, and blood-shot eyes. No one needed to see that.

Her silly thoughts had distracted her for that single, necessary moment. Feeling a bit more in control, she turned back to the monitor in time to see the trauma team disappearing into the lift with Joey's stretcher. Mai hugged herself even tighter and headed for the bank of elevators across from the monitoring station. She hit the call button with rather more force than was necessary, and swore when she broke a perfectly manicured nail.

It would be some time before they would allow any visitors, and she didn't think she could stand hanging around in the tiny space that passed for a waiting room -- not right now, not without losing her mind. So she punched the button for the recreational level rather than Medical. She would go see Joey just as soon as humanly possible. But in the meantime…

_Damn_, but she needed a stiff drink.

---------------------------

As usual in the aftermath of battle, the O-Club was crowded. Mai stood on the threshold, letting the noise and smell of life wash over her. Raucous laughter at the back of the room heralded another round in the endless, unofficial Duel Monsters tournament in which all of the pilots competed, with varying degrees of skill. The juke box was flashing its garish neon lights and belting out some tune from way before her time. For a moment, she listened to the lyrics -- something about not fearing reapers, she thought -- and frowned. Fortunately, the song wound down quickly, another -- just as loud, just as old -- instantly taking its place.

As the male singer challenged her to "take me on," Mai made her way to the battered bar, where Tristan had her usual waiting for her. She thanked him with a forced smile, and, sipping delicately from her glass, found a seat near the observation window that took up most of the curving back wall.

It didn't take long before another figure slipped into the vinyl upholstered booth, his hand reaching out to find hers and twine their fingers together. Mai didn't look away from the view, not that there was much to see at the moment but the lights of the juke box reflecting in the glass. "Baron."

He squeezed her hand gently. When he spoke, his voice was gentle, and carried the lilting accent of the lunar colony where he had grown up. It was familiar, comforting. She wished she could wrap it around her like a warm blanket to shield her from cold reality. "Are you okay, Mai?"

With a faint sigh, she turned her head to look at her Anchor. "What do you think?"

"Wheeler'll be fine," Baron said, grimacing a bit as the words left his lips. It was no secret that he and Joey didn't get along. Neither considered the other good enough for Mai; both hoped to usher the other man out of the picture, once and for all. "He's too stubborn to go down without a fight."

"That he is…" In her mind's eyes, Mai could still see him using his rail gun as a club to beat the Orichalcos Soldier away from the helpless, unarmed escape pods that were its intended targets. The idiot. The brave, stubborn idiot who didn't know when to quit. She shook her head, tears threatening again.

Baron offered her a paper napkin. She took it, but sat shredding it between her fingers rather than risk messing up her carefully applied make-up. He smiled softly at her. "It'll be all right, Mai. You'll see."

"I hope you're right," she murmured, staring down at the mess she'd made of the napkin. She scooped the paper shreds into a loose pile on the table between them. "That beam… Whatever it was that hit Joey, it also got a couple of the escape pods. I wonder…"

"We'll find out soon enough."

Mai snorted. "Yeah, right. When do they ever tell us lowly pilots anything?"

She had her own ways of finding out, of course. It paid to be connected, and Mai carefully cultivated a network of acquaintances, associates, and contacts throughout the solar system. Maybe it came from being a Belter. Growing up in the distant reaches of the Asteroid Belt, far from everything, even other miners and their families, she had an almost instinctive need to surround herself with people. If there was one thing she feared above all others, it was the threat of being left truly alone. She had lots of useful, casual connections. But Joey had been her first real friend; it had been through him that she had become friends with Yami and the others.

Her Anchor leaned close, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. She tensed instinctively, for just a second torn between the desire to shove the uninvited touch away -- or to lean into it. She settled for doing neither, and went back to fussing with the torn shreds of the napkin while she tried to remember where she had seen something like that damned green energy beam. It had seemed strangely familiar…

"Well, well," Baron drawled, his attention suddenly drawn elsewhere. "Look what the dingo dragged in…"

Turning her head to look toward the entrance, Mai saw that a group of pilots had entered the club. The newcomers were dressed in the unmistakable pink flightsuits that marked them as Siegfried von Schroeder's Valkyrie squadron. Siegfried himself was at the head of the group, speaking loudly to be heard over the ambient noise -- and to make sure everyone noticed him, Mai thought with a twist of her lips. The man was a born drama queen.

Behind Siegfried, stood Seto Kaiba, trying -- and failing miserably -- not to look uncomfortable in his Valkyrie pilot's uniform. He looked as if he would rather be anywhere other than where he actually was, including in the midst of a firefight. Mai knew how he felt. Her fingers curled, as if around the grip of her rose-whip. She wanted to make those bastards pay for what they had done to Joey…

Siegfried's Austrian accent (which Mai was almost certain he exaggerated) was especially thick as he said, "A good battle, today. I will buy a round of drinks for my valiant companions."

He leaned against the bar as he spoke, and his smugly satisfied expression made Mai's hand itch to slap it off his face. She nudged Baron. "C'mon. Let's get out of here before I do something I won't regret."

The two of them, pilot and Anchor, threaded their way through the crowd. They had almost made it to the door when Siegfried's voice boomed again, "You will be putting Wheeler's photograph on the Wall, yes? A fitting tribute, I'm sure. He was only a mediocre pilot, but he died bravely."

Mai froze. For a moment, she thought her heart had actually stopped beating. Then it was racing, her pulse pounding in her ears, as she turned back into the officer's club and stalked over to the bar, scattering pilots like so many dry leaves from her path, until she was nose-to-nose with Siegfried. She jabbed her broken fingernail into his chest.

"How dare you?" He was taller than she was by a handful of inches, but at the moment, he looked about six inches high to her. "You… smarmy, pink little worm! How dare you talk about Joey Wheeler like that? Mediocre pilot? What's the matter, _Siggy_, sour grapes? You've tried more than once to qualify for the enhanced mecha program -- and you've failed every time, haven't you?"

Siegfried gaped at her, as if he couldn't quite believe she -- or anyone else -- would dare speak to him in that fashion. Then his poise returned, and he straightened to his full height, forcing her back a step. "You are out of line, Lt. Valentine. I believe I will have you on report for this insubordination."

"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you? You _lousy_ --"

"Mai!" Baron had his hands on her arms, holding her back, trying to pull her away before she could do something that would get her more than a slap on the wrist from General Anderson. "Now's neither the time nor the place for this."

"Listen to your lover," Siegfried said, smirking at her in a way that made Mai wonder if he practiced being offensive or if it was a natural talent. "Is it worth a night in the brig to continue to insult me?"

Mai thought it just might be, but she forced her hands to unclench, let Baron draw her further away from Siegfried. She had almost talked herself into letting it go when Siegfried added, "After all, Wheeler is beyond caring what I think of his skills, or lack thereof."

"Joey's not dead!" It came out as a defiant shriek that would've done her Harpy proud. She slapped him, hard, leaving the red imprint of her hand on his cheek. "Fuck you! He's not dead, and I'm not giving up on him."

Siegfried's hand covered the mark on his face. That same infuriating half-smile was still on his lips, but his eyes were hard and cold, glittering with some unreadable emotion in the flickering neon of the club. "How fortunate for you that I will not strike a woman."

"Yeah?" Baron shoved his way in between them before Mai could form a suitable retort. "How 'bout me, then? Man enough for ya?"

Siegfried held his fists before him in a classic pugilist's pose. He looked ridiculous, with his pink-dyed hair and his pink flightsuit, but he was taller than Baron and he had the advantage of a longer reach. "You think you are the better man?" he taunted. "Come and prove it, yes?"

Baron drew back his fist. Mai caught his arm, a clear warning in her eyes. Seto, who had been pretending to ignore the altercation, reached out, grabbed the back of Siegfried's collar, and swung him around in a short arc. The Valkyrie leader ended up half-sitting on, half-lying across the bar. Seto held him there, seemingly without effort, with one hand pressed against the back of Siegfried's neck while the prone man struggled to free himself. Mai grinned. If she ended up on report, she wasn't going to be alone.

"Thanks," she said simply, gathering her Anchor with a look and heading again for the door. On the threshold, she paused to look back. Suddenly, she wanted Seto to know that she was grateful for his part in the battle, that she knew _he_ was the pilot who had killed the bastard that got Joey. "By the way, that was nice shooting out there, today. Hurry up and get back where you belong, Captain. We need our Blue-Eyes."

And then she swept out into the corridor, Baron at her heels, leaving a bemused Seto -- and an infuriated Siegfried -- in her wake.

-----------------------

_The Kaiba estate_  
_Just outside Nagoya, Japan_

Dinner had gone well, Yami thought, largely because they had stuck to discussing safe topics such as the weather and Yami's plans for the enhanced mecha division. By the end of the night, his father had approved Yami's request to inspect the KC Mars facilities in person, and Yami was feeling uncharacteristically relaxed in his father's company on the limousine ride home.

Naturally, that was when Kazuki chose to drop the bombshell. "I have made an appointment with the _nakodo _for you."

Yami stared at his father, hoping he had heard incorrectly. His father had arranged another meeting with the go-between? He managed to control his anger enough to ask, "What did you say?"

"I have made an appointment with the _nakodo _for you," his father repeated complacently. "For tomorrow afternoon."

"Father…" Yami's fists clenched in his lap. He inhaled sharply, forced it out through his nose, and attempted to keep a tight rein on his temper. "I plan to be on Mars tomorrow. Had you forgotten?"

For the first time in his life, Yami saw his father look sheepish. Kazuki shrugged. "No matter. I will reschedule the appointment. When will be convenient for you?"

_How about 'never'?_ Yami thought, but did not say. His teeth ground together. His father's insistence upon finding a "traditional Japanese girl" for him to wed was a constant bone of contention between them. It had been a relief all around when Yami had agreed to marry Anzu, but her untimely death had brought with it a resumption of the hostilities. Yami considered it highly unlikely that a go-between, however talented, would find another like Anzu -- someone he had quickly grown to regard as a friend, and had later learned to love. Unlike his father, Yami was in no rush to find a 'replacement' for her.

"I'm not sure, Father," he said, finally. He took another deep breath, released it slowly. "I would like to take the time to do a thorough inspection of not only the factory, but also Research and Development. I intend to tour the plant and the labs, as well as review their files for the last year."

His father looked suitably impressed by this apparent show of corporate devotion. It was enough to temporarily sidetrack Kazuki from the more personal discussion, for which Yami was grateful. "Are you looking for anything in particular?"

Yami hesitated. He knew there had to be at least one enemy agent working within the company, perhaps more, but he was equally certain his father was not one of them. Finally, he said, "There was a flaw… in the armor of my Dark Magician. A fatal flaw. Someone at Kaiba Corp not only knew about it, they diligently covered it up until it was too late."

Kazuki's eyes narrowed. "You speak of the Jupiter Station battle."

Yami nodded shortly.

They were both silent, each lost in his own dark thoughts. When Kazuki at last broke the silence, his voice was tightly controlled. "Someone… who works for me… tried to kill you?"

Yami's head came up. "I don't think it was personal…"

"It is damn well personal to me!" Barely restrained fury resonated roughly in Kazuki's deep voice. "Yami… I will do anything in my power to help you find the person responsible for this, but… You must promise me that you will take every precaution."

His thunderous expression softened the tiniest bit as he added, "Your mother would never forgive me if I let anything happen to you."

"I can take care of myself."

"Perhaps." Kazuki's features had settled back into their usual stern lines. "You will, however, take Rafael with you when you travel to Mars, and he will remain with you at all times. Is that clear?"

Yami sighed. "Yes, Father."

He had the sinking feeling that his mission had just become a lot more complicated.


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

_SSDF Orbital Station 002  
__Mars orbit_

Morning found General Anderson and the heads of Medical, Pilot/Anchor Support, and Mech Support gathered for a tense, emergency meeting in the main briefing room on A-ring.

"How soon can you get the Red-Eyes Black Dragon back online?" General Anderson's voice seemed to echo in the quiet of the briefing room. Around the table, the various heads of department shuffled their data pads and refused to meet his gaze. Anderson focused on one department head in particular and prompted impatiently, "Mr. Devlin?"

"The physical damage can be repaired within the week," Duke said, with barely a glance at the information on the datapad in his hand. He had practically memorized the information on it, already. "The rail gun is toast, but we have another one in stores. Some of the ablative armor plating will have to be replaced, as well as quite a lot of the internal electronics. Whatever happened fried most of the systems directly related to the pilot interface. I've had to requisition a new TEM unit. The old one was completely burned out."

"And the AI?"

"Gone." Duke sighed at the shocked looks on the faces around him. What did they expect? They all knew what had happened to Joey's Anchor, just from the backlash. Did they really expect the AI, in direct linkage with its pilot, to have fared any better? "We have the stored back-ups, of course. Once the chassis has been repaired, we'll upload the latest back-up into the mech's main computer and reboot."

He looked shrewdly at Anderson across the conference table. "You'll have your Black Dragon back in seven days… But what good is it without its pilot?"

All eyes turned to Dr. Churchill. His usual serene expression was absent; in its place, tension strained his handsome brown features. Anderson added to the tension when he barked, "And when _will_ I have my pilot back, Doctor?"

"I wish I could tell you," Churchill said, wearily. He looked like a man reaching the end of his tether. "We've run every test I can think of, and we still don't know what's wrong with him. Aside from a few minor burns where the sensors shorted out, his body is perfectly healthy. It's just that there's no one home. It's as if… as if something sucked Captain Wheeler's soul right out of his body."

Duke's eyes widened. "Is that even possible?"

The doctor shrugged. "Scientifically speaking… who knows? Personally… Well." He shrugged again, not callously, but simply a reflection of how truly helpless he felt in the face of this crisis. "It's not just Wheeler. The people who were inside the escape pods struck by the energy weapon are in much the same condition."

"And what, exactly, is this 'condition,' Doctor?" Anderson demanded.

"It appears to be a deep coma," Churchill said. "Brain functions are severely depressed; we have all of the victims on life-support." He sighed before meeting the general's gaze. "They'll have to be transferred planet-side, sir. We simply do not have the facilities here on the station for the type of constant, long-term care they will require."

"Including Captain Wheeler?"

"Yes, sir."

After a long pause, the general nodded. "See to it, Doctor. I'll contact the hospital at Mars Base and let them know they'll be receiving critical care patients… I assume you'll want to transport them as soon as possible?"

"It would be best, sir."

Another nod. "This afternoon, then." Anderson made a notation on the datapad in front of him. "What is the status of Captain Wheeler's Anchor?"

"Sedated." The backlash from the attack -- and the abruptness with which she had lost all contact with her brother -- had left Serenity Wheeler devastated. "I'd like to transfer her, as well. Frankly, she'll be in no fit state to return to duty any time soon, and she'll want to be near her brother."

"With her pilot out of commission for the foreseeable future, there's not much she could do here, anyway." All heads turned toward the new speaker.

"Dr. Korone, have you examined Captain Wheeler?" Anderson asked, frowning at the brown haired man slouched in the chair at the end of the conference table.

Piotr Korone, head of Pilot/Anchor Support and a doctor of psychology, offered the general a pitying look. "Captain Wheeler is in a coma, General. It remains to be seen whether or not he'll regain consciousness, much less be in any shape to require my services."

"I see." Anderson's gray eyes were like shadowed ice. "And Lt. Wheeler?"

"I'll be talking to her as soon as she wakes up," Korone assured him. "In the meantime, I concur with Dr. Churchill's recommendation. She'll be best served planet-side. The psych staff at the base hospital is a good one."

Anderson nodded and made another notation on the data pad in front of him. "I want you all to prepare detailed reports on every test you run, every procedure you perform on Wheeler and the others, and on the mecha. I don't doubt your competence, gentlemen, but I want all our best minds working on this one. We have to find out what those alien bastards did to our pilot."

He looked sternly at Duke. "Mech Support is under the gun on this one, Devlin. Find a way to shield against that energy weapon."

"There may not _be_ a way to --" Duke broke off abruptly as he was treated to a full-fledged Anderson Glower. He gulped. "Yes, sir."

"Good." Anderson glanced around the table, eying them each in turn. "I'll expect preliminary reports by the end of the day, gentlemen. Dismissed."

Turning his chair to face the open viewing port in the wall behind him, Anderson didn't watch them as the department heads filed somberly from the briefing room. In the silence that followed, his sigh was as loud as a shout.

"There's another pilot we need to talk about, General."

The quiet voice startled the general into jerking half out of his seat before recovering his usual poise. With a scowl firmly in place, Anderson swiveled the chair back to face the table and fixed a gimlet eye on the man still lounging at the other end of it. "I've asked you not to do that, Doctor. Once more, and I really will have to insist upon your wearing a bell."

Korone grinned unrepentantly, a brief flicker of humor in his green eyes, before sobering. "Sorry. Now, about Captain Kaiba..."

Anderson sighed, again. "You've seen his test results."

Korone nodded. "I've also seen the complaint filed against him by Captain Von Schroeder. Things are getting serious if Captain Kaiba is brawling in bars."

A snort. "That wasn't a brawl. I've seen Seto Kaiba in hand-to-hand. If he'd wanted to, he could've wiped the floor with Siegfried, and not broken a sweat." The amusement faded from his stern features as he considered what he had just said and shook his head. "I see your point, though, Doctor. Such behavior isn't like Kaiba. The stress is getting to him."

"_Separation from his dragon_ is 'getting to him,'" Korone corrected, straightening in his chair and fussing with the data pad on the table before him. "You've got him using that new device? The one that allows remote contact with the AI?"

"Yes, for all the good it seems to be doing." The frustration in Anderson's voice was unmistakable. "Dammit, I need that boy back in his own mech, not upstaging Von Schroeder and his Valkyries. But I can't reassign him until he clears the gestalt test."

"So, the problem is getting him back in sync with his mech so he can ace the test."

Korone favored him with a thoughtful look. "You'll have to sentence him to some disciplinary action for that bar fight, right?"

When Anderson nodded, Korone continued, "All right. Here's what I think you should do..."

---------------------

_Hell_, Seto decided, _was pink_.

As soon as he walked into the Valkyrie hangar, he was assaulted on all sides by that most insipid of colors. The towering Valkyries themselves were painted a deep rose pink. The technicians' jumpsuits were the pale pink of cotton candy, and made his teeth hurt just to look at them. The pilots stood out against the gray metal walls like hot pink, tropical flowers sprouting from the non-skid flooring -- which bore wide, pink guide stripes leading from the bank of elevators and curving out of sight toward the far side of the hangar, as if anyone could've mistaken this paean to pink as anything but Von Schroeder's domain.

Seto's jaw clenched, and one hand crept of its own accord to lightly brush the RID pinned to the front of his hated (pink) flightsuit. The silvery metal felt warm beneath his touch as his fingertips absently traced the familiar lines of his Dragon's face in miniature. _I'll get you back,_ he vowed silently. _Nothing is going to keep me away from where I belong_.

Which was certainly _not_ this pastel hell.

"Ah, so good of you to finally join us, Captain Kaiba," said the snide, heavily-accented voice of Kaiba's personal devil.

Seto didn't bother trying to hide the contempt in his expression as he turned to face Siegfried. "I thought you were on report."

"As, no doubt, are you," Siegfried retorted, his supercilious little sneer firmly in place. "However, with our enhanced mecha forces dwindling by the moment, Valkyrie pilots have become far too valuable to ground over such a trivial incident. And I do not find a twenty-four hour loss of off-duty freedom overly taxing, though I do thank you for your... concern."

"Whatever."

So Siggy was confined to quarters during his off-duty hours, eh? No doubt Mai had received a similar sentence for her part in the altercation. Seto's own punishment had surprised him: he had been ordered to spend at least two of his off-duty hours, every day for the next week (or until he passed his gestalt test, whichever came first) performing routine maintenance on his mech, under the supervision of the crew chief. He had felt a strange sort of guilt, as if he should inform the general such a task was hardly what Seto considered "punishment." But in the end, he had kept his mouth shut. Let the general throw him in the briar patch. It beat the brig any day.

Once more, Seto's hand reached toward his Blue-Eyes pin. Siegfried's eyes followed the involuntary gesture, widening when he saw the non-regulation item adorning Seto's flightsuit. "Captain Kaiba! I am sure you are aware that jewelry of that sort is not considered an appropriate addition to your duty uniform. I will have to ask you to remove that pin, at once."

"And I will have to refuse," Seto said, inwardly enjoying the anger which instantly sparked in Siegfried's eyes at his defiance.

"Perhaps you did not understand me," Siegfried said, his mouth tightening until the corners were white with strain. "That was a direct order, Captain. You _will_ remove the pin."

"No," Seto said, almost cheerfully. "I won't."

Siegfried stared at him for a moment, as if calculating his chances of enforcing the order. Then his eyes narrowed, and his hand darted toward Seto's chest with the obvious intent of grabbing the pin and removing it himself. Seto's fingers closed around the other man's wrist like a steel vise, stopping him just short of closing on the RID.

The arm beneath Seto's grip was practically vibrating with the force of Siegfried's anger. "I am your commanding officer, Captain Kaiba. And, as such, I am giving you a direct order to remove that bit of frippery, or I _will_ remove it for you. Am I understood?"

"This isn't a simple lapel pin," Seto said flatly. "It's a remote interface device for my Blue-Eyes White Dragon, and one that General Anderson himself has ordered me to wear at all times. I will not remove it, and you will not defile it with your touch. Am _I_ understood?"

"What if I do not believe you?"

"You know where the intercom is," Seto growled, shoving Siegfried's hand -- and, with it, Siegfried himself -- away. He turned his back on the other man. "Use it to call General Anderson and ask him, yourself."

"Do not think that I will not!" Siegfried called after him, equal parts anger and frustration in his voice. "You are not privileged here, _Herr_ Kaiba. Here, you are just another pilot!"

"Tell me about it," Seto grumbled under his breath, striding across the hangar toward his waiting (pink) Valkyrie. "Just another fucking pink pilot."

------------------

_Kaiba Corp Enhanced-Mecha Production Facility  
__Amazonis Planitia_  
_Kaiba Corporation Colony, Mars_

Rank had its privileges. So did wealth; although, right now, Yami would have gladly traded the VIP treatment he was receiving for a few moments alone with the workers on the factory floor. Unfortunately, he hadn't been able to shake his escorts since arriving on Mars. A Kaiba Corp limo had picked him up at the spaceport and delivered him directly to the factory complex situated on the vast, red plain at the foot of Olympus Mons.

The facility was huge, a sprawling miniature city composed of factories, warehouses, massive vehicle assembly buildings, testing grounds, support buildings, office towers, and even rows of identical concrete apartment blocks for the workers. Yami had seen pictures of the complex, but he had never been here before. It was, he had to admit, quite an impressive sight. This room in the building he was currently touring, a factory where components for the giant mecha were manufactured, was easily as big as the enhanced-mecha hangar back on the station. The echoing space was filled with the busy bustle of assembly lines, robotic welding and sorting arms, forklifts, loaders, and coverall clad workers. The air was thick with the perfume of industry: machine oil, overheated plastics, and the electric tang of ozone. From his place on the steel catwalk high above the work floor, he had a bird's-eye view, but what he needed to see was still hidden away, somewhere. The fact that he had been so far unable to ditch his official escort was not making his day any brighter.

Beside him, the man in charge of this facility, whose first name Yami had already forgotten, was prating on in an obsequious fashion that made Yami grind his teeth in irritation. Yami shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of his slate gray trousers, and pretended to be utterly fascinated with the hypnotic rhythm of the machinery below.

It took him several seconds to realize that his escort was calling his name. "Kaiba-san?"

"Yes, Mr. Nesbitt?" Yami said, turning to look at the other man. It wasn't helping his mood that he had taken an immediate, instinctive dislike to Nesbitt. The man's obsequious manner did nothing to hide the obvious contempt he felt toward Yami, a contempt made all-too-plain by Nesbitt blithely ignoring Yami's request that he not use honorifics when addressing him. Kaiba Corporation was not only a multinational company, it was an interplanetary one; while corporate culture at the company's headquarters on Earth was mostly traditional Japanese, Yami neither expected nor wanted to be reminded of that here. This was Mars, not Japan, and Yami had never cared for formal titles or honorifics. After all, he had inherited a part of his personality from his distinctly _non-_traditional, American mother and, like her, he chafed under the restrictions of such regimented behavior.

Yami hid a grimace as he tuned back in to find Nesbitt still droning on about the production line they were currently inspecting, and found himself wondering if the man was actually trying to bore him to death. At the rate things were going, he might succeed.

"Perhaps we could move on, now?" Yami suggested, not bothering to hide the boredom in his voice. "I would like to inspect the mecha under construction."

"Oh. Yes, of course."

Nesbitt led the way back to their waiting cart, apparently unaware that he had committed yet another _faux pas_ by not allowing Yami to precede him. At Yami's side, Rafael made a low, quickly-stifled noise of displeasure. Yami shot him a quelling glance. Rafael's mouth tightened into a thin, white line, but he remained silent. Apparently, Rafael was taking Nesbitt's rude treatment of Yami personally. Without another word, they all climbed aboard the motorized cart where Nesbitt's assistant, a slightly-built man who had been introduced only as "Tanaka-san," waited to chauffeur them to their next stop on the inspection tour.

They left the fabrication plant through a connecting tunnel that allowed easy access between buildings even during inclement weather. A short drive later and they had arrived at the massive vehicle assembly building Yami had spotted earlier. Nesbitt immediately went back into tour-drone mode.

"Kaiba-san, if I could direct your attention over this way--"

Once again, Yami tuned him out. His gaze was immediately drawn to the towering gantries which held skeletal mecha under construction. Clean-suited technicians in hard hats and hairnets swarmed the partially constructed robots. Even at this stage of production, with much of the inner workings exposed and the outer shells still the dull gray of unpainted metal, the machines were unmistakably Duel Mecha. Yami's eyes traced the familiar contours of the main cockpit within the closest machine's cranium, wide-open without the metal "face" to conceal it.

"Here are the docking stations for the mecha once they are at seventy-five percent completion and are beginning the final testing phase," Nesbitt said, raising his voice to be heard over the background noise of heavy machinery at work, as their VIP cart rolled smoothly around a bulwark, bringing the docking ports into view.

Yami found his breath catching in his throat at the sight. A solitary mech, unpainted but wearing most of its armor, nestled in the nearest docking station. Flood lights lit up its chassis and reflected off the polished surface of its serene metal mask. Clean-suited technicians moved around and even over it like ants, each focused on his job. Feet thudding loudly against the concrete floor and yellow caution light flashing to warn of its approach, a construction loader approached with a crate in its pincer-like hands. Inside the open body of the loader, the driver worked his hands and feet in the waldos that controlled his machine, steering around the VIP cart without appearing to notice them as anything more than a minor obstacle in his path.

Being here, seeing the techs scurrying about partially built mecha, tore at Yami's soul in a way he hadn't anticipated. The sounds, the smells, the kindly regard of the mech's face -- it all reminded him why he had been unable to bear spending time in the mech bay on the station. Even brief visits had hurt entirely too much. Being here now brought up those memories of pain and loss... and guilt. A shiver traced its way along his spine as his treacherous imagination substituted Dark Magician's face for that of the unfinished mech. The Magician's eyes watched him with silent accusation, and Yami flinched.

"Mr. Kaiba? Are you all right, sir?"

Schooling his features to give nothing away, Yami glanced to the side to find Rafael leaning forward, regarding him with concern in his narrowed eyes. Yami nodded reassuringly. The bodyguard sat back, but seemed far from convinced. Yami could feel the man's gaze on him, even as he gave himself a mental shake and focused his attention on Nesbitt's unnecessary explanation of how each mech was customized to fit its pilot's needs.

"Mr. Nesbitt... You are aware that I piloted an enhanced mech for almost two years, one of them in active combat?" Yami said finally, interrupting Nesbitt's latest spiel.

Nesbitt looked at him blankly.

"Kaiba-sama is the Dark Magician," Nesbitt's assistant reminded him gently, speaking up for the first time since greeting Yami upon his arrival at the spaceport.

"Oh, yes. The Defense Force." The tone of Nesbitt's voice made it clear what he thought of the SSDF and its members. A sly smile crinkling the skin around his close-set eyes, he said, "I had forgotten, Kaiba-kun. Please forgive my lapse."

This time, Yami felt his jaw tighten. It was one thing to offer insult by pretending ignorance of Japanese culture; Yami had been trained under his father's strict tutelage to ignore such petty slights. But to denigrate his service in the SSDF, when he had lost so much in pursuit of his duty... He sensed more than saw Rafael tense on the seat behind him, and knew that his bodyguard was equally offended by Nesbitt's behavior.

Yami would have liked to knock the supercilious expression off Nesbitt's face. Instead, he schooled his features into a copy of his father's sphinx-like businessman's stare, and settled for looking right through Nesbitt as if the man were of no consequence. Nesbitt's assistant, Tanaka, was darting his gaze rapidly from one man to the other, his eyes wide and his mouth pursed, obviously stunned by his employer's rudeness toward the man who was not only the vice-president in charge of their division, but also the CEO's son and heir. Tanaka's hands were white-knuckled on the steering wheel of the cart, and he looked as if he might hyperventilate at any moment. Light trembled off the green stone set in his tie-tack.

Taking pity on him, Yami said, "Let us move on, shall we?"

"Yes, Kaiba-sama!" Tanaka didn't even wait for confirmation from Nesbitt, but put the cart into gear at once. He glanced briefly back at Yami. "What would you like to see next, Kaiba-sama?"

As much as the repeated honorifics were annoying him, Yami could see that they irritated Nesbitt even more. Allowing the tiniest of smiles to touch the corners of his mouth, Yami said, "Surprise me, Tanaka-san."

"Y-yes, Kaiba-sama." Tanaka gulped, Nesbitt frowned... and Yami settled back in his seat and wondered if he would get through the day without actually killing someone.

---------------------

Yami breathed a silent sigh of relief as the tour came to its inevitable conclusion in the complex's main office tower. As they stood in a little group by the executive elevators, Nesbitt looked rather smug, as if he were already mentally celebrating the successful wrap-up of Yami's visit. "If there's anything else I can do for you, please don't hesitate to --"

"I require an office in which to work for a few days," Yami said smoothly, and watched the man's face fall.

"An office? I'm afraid don't understand..."

"I don't know what you were told, but this isn't a simple day-visit to humor the CEO's spoiled son, Mr. Nesbitt," Yami said blandly, his words making it clear he had not been oblivious to Nesbitt's attitude. "The product being produced by this facility is not living up to the high standards of the Kaiba Corporation. We will _not_ be delivering substandard mecha to any of our customers, and most certainly not to the SSDF. I am here to see to it that this facility is brought back in line with company standards as quickly as possible."

Nesbitt's frown deepened, but he said nothing, though his hands clenched as he listened to Yami's diatribe. Beside his boss, Tanaka flinched with every word of condemnation, as if he, and not Nesbitt, were responsible for the current state of the facility.

"In the meantime, I will need an office with a computer station that has access to the mainframe, as well as someone from the secretarial pool to act as my assistant for the duration of my stay," Yami said levelly, in a tone that brooked no argument. "You will see to this quickly, Mr. Nesbitt, as I'd like to get to work as soon as possible. My father doesn't appreciate people wasting valuable company time... and neither do I."

"Yes, of course. Sir." Nesbitt gestured abruptly to his assistant, his frown still firmly in place, and a look in his eyes that could have been fear -- or anger. "Tanaka-san, see to it that Kaiba-ku-- Kaiba-_san_ receives whatever he thinks he needs."

"Yes, sir." Clutching his electronic clipboard, Tanaka bowed quickly. "If you will come with me, Kaiba-sama?"

Rafael a faithful shadow at his side, Yami started to follow. On the threshold, he hesitated. "One last thing, Mr. Nesbitt."

Yami's voice dropped to a low, dangerous purr as he continued, "Until you have availed yourself of the approved company course in Japanese business etiquette, I suggest you refrain from further use of honorifics. As you are attempting them now, they reflect rather poorly on your manners, your education, and your intelligence. I'm certain that is not the impression you wish to give the executive officers of this company... Certainly not if you hope for continued advancement at Kaiba Corp."

Leaving a speechless Nesbitt gaping after him, Yami strode calmly into the elevator and allowed the doors to close on whatever response Nesbitt might have rallied to make. Studiously, he pretended not to notice Tanaka's nervous trembling -- or the satisfied grin on his bodyguard's normally stoic face.


	13. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

_SSDF Orbital Station 002  
__Mars orbit_

Mokuba slipped quietly into the ICU and looked around with a quick, almost furtive flick of his gaze. For the moment, the small, dimly-lit observation area was deserted. Swallowing hard, he made his way over to the thick glass wall that separated the waiting area from the actual intensive care unit. On the other side of the observation window, a row of beds held the victims of the aliens' strange energy weapon. In the bed nearest the window, a tousled blond head lay all-too-quietly against the sterile white pillow.

Pressing his nose to the glass, Mokuba stared at Joey Wheeler's pale, expressionless face. He would have liked to think that Joey looked as if he were simply asleep, but there was a vacant quality, a slackness to the skin perhaps, that no mere sleeper could ever acquire. He shivered. Seto had been in that battle with Joey, piloting a stupid Valkyrie instead of his own Dragon. It could just as easily have been Seto that the Orichalcos Soldier's weapon struck; it could just as easily be Seto lying as still as death in that bed.

"Mokuba?"

Startled by the soft voice that interrupted his morbid reverie, Mokuba almost tripped over his own feet as he spun around to confront the speaker. "Oh. Hi, Serenity. How are you?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he felt his cheeks burn with an embarrassed flush. "Sorry. That was a stupid question."

"No, it wasn't." Serenity offered him a gentle, sad smile that didn't quite make it into her eyes. "It was a concerned question from a friend. Thank you."

His flush deepened. "I can't stay long. I'm on duty in a few minutes, but I wanted to see how Joey was doing. Has there been any improvement in his condition?"

She shook her head slowly, the pain in her eyes like an unexpected knife through his chest. "No. Not yet." She sighed and leaned forward to press her palms against the glass separating them from Joey. Her long red hair fell like a veil across her face, hiding her expression from him as she added, softly, "They're transferring him to the base hospital on Mars in a few hours. I'm going with him."

"Oh." The knife in his chest twisted. "Okay."

"I can call you sometime," Serenity said hesitantly, watching him from the corner of her eyes. "To keep you updated. If you want me to."

"Uh, yeah. That'd be great," he said, trying not to sound too eager. "We're all pulling for him, you know. Even Seto."

"I know." She turned away from the glass for a moment, and her unguarded expression made his breath catch in his throat. "It really means a lot to me, Mokuba. Thank you."

And then, catching him completely by surprise, she hugged him. Just for a heartbeat or two, her warmth enveloped him, and he breathed the subtle, clean scent of soap that clung to her skin. When she released him just as suddenly, Mokuba's face was lobster red, but he felt better than he had in... longer than he could remember, actually. The realization kind of scared him.

"When he wakes up," Serenity said, "I'll tell Joey you were worried about him."

Mokuba nodded. "Your brother's strong. He'll pull through this. I know he will."

"You're right, Mokuba," she said, with a more genuine smile that seemed to warm him all over. "I know he will, too."

----------------

_Kame Street Game Shop  
__Domino City  
__Arcadia Planitia  
__Kaiba Corporation Colony, Mars_

The bell over the game shop door jangled for the tenth time in as many minutes. Behind the counter, Yugi tried not to wince as he plastered on his 'greeting the customers' smile, which was a bit weary from the work-out it was getting on such a busy morning. Trying to keep one eye on the gaggle of pre-teens hanging out around one of the card displays, Yugi barely registered the person in the doorway as he delivered his standard greeting, "Welcome to the Kame Game Shop. Is there anything I can help you with, today?"

"Duel me!"

"What?" Focusing on the newcomer, Yugi finally recognized him as the same oddly-dressed man he had encountered earlier. The man was still wearing his strange costume, right down to the striped mask that covered his face. Light glinted off the small green stone nestled in the outrageous folds of his enormous bow-tie.

"Duel me, Yugi Mutou!" the man repeated, striking a dramatic pose that had the other customers gaping at him. Sensing free entertainment, the kids abandoned the card display and drifted toward the front counter.

Yugi wasted a moment to briefly wish the floor would open up and swallow him whole, as he suddenly found himself the center of attention. With a nervous laugh, he tried to wave off his unwanted audience. "Do any of you need help with your purchases?"

"You gonna duel the guy or what?" one of the kids demanded, one grubby hand clutching a half-eaten candy bar. His companions muttered in agreement, one of them nodding around the index finger shoved up his nose. Yugi grimaced.

"No," Yugi said firmly, addressing his remarks to both the listening kids and to the man in the striped costume. "I don't duel customers, and certainly not during regular business hours. Our official tournament schedule is posted on the Kame Game Shop website and there are hand-outs by the register, if you're interested in playing."

The man in the striped suit frowned at this announcement. "You won't duel me? But you said--"

"Look, I'm sorry," Yugi said, lowering his voice as the kids lost interest and slowly drifted back to their perusal of the stock on the shelves and display racks. "But I _can't_ duel you like this. Store policy."

"So, you lied to me when you said you would be happy to duel me!"

"No!" Hastily, Yugi lowered his voice again. "I meant what I said. I like dueling, really! But I can't make an exception or everyone will want to duel me, and then I'd never be able to get any work done. Please, try to understand it from my point of view."

For one frozen moment, Yugi thought the man was going to continue to make a scene, as what was visible of the man's face behind his mask resembled an angry thundercloud. Fortunately, he was literally saved by the bell, as the door swung open again to admit a woman in the beige uniform of the Global Express Delivery Service.

"Delivery for Yugi Mutou?" she said, holding up her electronic clipboard and looking at Yugi for confirmation of his identity.

"That's me," he said, with a sigh of relief. He had no idea what the delivery might be, as he hadn't ordered anything recently. He was pretty sure his grandpa hadn't, either. At the moment, though, he wasn't going to quibble if it got him out of this awkward situation.

"Sign here, please," the woman said, handing him the clipboard and stylus.

"You haven't seen the last of me, Yugi," the man in the costume growled in a low tone that belied his comic appearance. The green stone on his tie-tack seemed to flash as if in agreement, then he spun on his heel and yanked open the door. The bell jangled again, and Yugi sighed as he watched the man's striped coat tails disappear out the door.

Yugi's shoulders slumped as some of the tension left his body, and he smiled at the woman as he signed her clipboard with a flourish. "Is there a package for me?"

She nodded. "It's out on the sidewalk. Sorry, but it's too large to bring inside."

Yugi's eyes widened. What could it be? Nearly bursting with curiosity, he called to his grandpa, who was puttering about in the storage room in back. "Grandpa? Can you come watch the counter for a minute?"

"What is it, Yugi?" Solomon Mutou poked his head out of the storeroom. "I'll only be another couple of minutes in here..."

"There's a delivery," Yugi said. "I need to go outside to get it."

"Oh?" Solomon looked every bit as curious as Yugi felt, which probably meant that whatever the package was, it wasn't something his grandpa had ordered for him. "All right, then. Don't take too long!"

"I won't," Yugi said. He followed the woman outside -- and felt his jaw drop when he saw what her co-worker was using a mechanical lift to lower from the back of their delivery truck. He stared at the new pedal-cart, all gleaming purple paint and shining chrome, then gulped. "I... There must be some mistake. I didn't order that!"

The woman consulted her clipboard. "Yugi Mutou, 1214 Kame Street, Domino City, Mars. That's you, right?"

"Well, yeah. But..."

"Then it's yours." She tore off a printed invoice from the bottom of her clipboard. He took the thin strip of paper without even looking at it, his gaze still fastened on the impossible cart. It looked like one of the latest models, too... He barely noticed when the delivery team climbed back into the truck and drove away.

Slowly, Yugi walked over to where the cart sat on the sidewalk, metallic paint gleaming in the sun. It was perfect: pedal-powered, but with solar panels to charge a battery for longer trips; a deluxe black leather seat with a water-bottle holder underneath; a headlight for night driving; a wide, chromed basket in the back for cargo and, in the basket, a Nevlar helmet decorated with purple flame designs that matched the paint job on the bike.

Yugi reached out and stroked one hand along the bright chrome of the handlebars. Who could have--? And then it hit him -- almost as hard as a certain motorcyclist had hit him only a couple of days ago. _Yami_. Yami had insisted that he would replace the pedal-cart he had damaged in the accident, even though Yugi had been equally insistent that he didn't have to.

_I can't accept this,_ Yugi thought, even as he continued to gaze at the cart with covetous eyes. It really was gorgeous. And, maybe... Wouldn't it be rude to refuse such a generous gift? He shook himself. It was _too_ generous. He knew Yami could probably afford it, but, still...

The bell sounded behind him as the shop door opened. "Yugi? Is there a problem?"

"I'm not sure, Grandpa," Yugi said truthfully, still staring at Yami's gift and guiltily wondering just how fast it would go. "I'm really not sure, at all."

---------------------

_SSDF Orbital Station 002  
__Mars orbit_

"Is there a problem, Captain Kaiba?" asked a faintly irritated voice from somewhere behind Seto and slightly to his left. Since he had thought himself alone in the technicians' locker room, the question was enough to make him flinch.

With a start, Seto realized he had been staring blankly at the white coverall in his hands for several seconds without moving. He scowled at his reaction and turned his head slightly to share the expression with the person who had intruded on his thoughts. Forcing himself into action, Seto toed off his shoes and stepped into the legs of the technician's coverall. It might not be his regular flightsuit, but at least it wasn't pink. "No."

"Glad to hear it." The voice -- and the lazy drawl that went with it -- belonged to the head of the Blue-Eyes' ground crew, a man who went by the unlikely sobriquet of 'Bacardi.' Seto had no idea how Bacardi had acquired the nickname, but he did know that the man went to some lengths to keep his actual name under wraps. Seto only knew that it was Twarowski because he had stumbled across the man's personnel file in one of his late-night hacking sessions with the Kaiba Corp mainframe back on Earth. Bacardi was a lean man in his early fifties, with a full head of black hair just starting to gray at the temples, shrewd hazel eyes, and a trim salt-and-pepper mustache.

"When you're suited up, Captain, meet me out on the floor by the Blue-Eyes, and I'll give you your assignment for today."

"Yes, Chief," Seto said, sliding his arms into the coverall and reaching for the zipper almost in one single, graceful motion. He removed the RID from its place on his uniform t-shirt and refastened it to the coverall. Without conscious decision on his part, he had taken to wearing the device almost directly over his heart.

After he had pulled on his shoes and the disposable slip-covers all the techs wore when working on an "opened" mech, he left the locker room through the door that let out directly into the hangar bay, bypassing the short, curving corridor that would have taken him past the lower-level Support Services office, technicians' break room, and emergency med-station.

But instead of a straight walk along the white guideline painted on the grating that made up the floor, Seto had to follow a broken, weaving pathway to avoid clusters of technicians gathered grimly around scattered chunks of armor and circuitry, like so many alchemists attempting to raise the dead. As he dodged a loader striding ponderously toward him with still more Frankenstein pieces, he glanced up and was startled to see the Red-Eyes Black Dragon -- or what was left of it. The mech was partially disassembled and more techs were swarming like scavenging crows over its surface, stripping off bits armor or digging inside its chest cavity for interesting tidbits of electronic viscera. It was the Red-Eyes whose parts were spread across every available surface between its gantry and the inner wall of the hangar, like the aftermath of some kind of mechanical slaughter.

A dark part of Seto's brain reminded him that if he had been a few seconds earlier in getting a bead on the Orichalcos Soldier that had fired on Red-Eyes, he might have prevented this. The Valkyrie was clumsy and slow compared to his Dragon; he had misjudged his reaction time, and Wheeler had paid the price for his mistake.

Ruthlessly, Seto quashed that line of thought. He had fucked up, he wasn't denying it; but the most important thing right now was getting back where he belonged, in the Blue-Eyes' cockpit. He allowed himself to run his fingertips over the contours of his Dragon's face on the RID pinned to his coverall. He might not be flying today, but at least he would be spending time with his Dragon. It wasn't quite as comforting a thought as the idea of curling up on the gantry and falling asleep beneath the Blue-Eyes' watchful gaze, but it beat the hell out of spending even one more second in Pink Purgatory with the Valkyries, he decided, as he rounded the last shielding bulwark and beheld his Dragon.

Bacardi was waiting for him, as promised, at the foot of the quiescent mech. The chief's gaze swept Seto briefly from head to toe, then returned to linger on the RID. "About that pin, Captain..."

Seto's jaw clenched. Not _again_. "I won't take it off," he said tightly, hands fisting at his sides in frustration. If Anderson was going to insist he use the damned thing, why couldn't he at least inform his underlings to stop harassing Seto about it?

"Wouldn't dream of asking you to, Captain," Bacardi said, one eyebrow raised as if surprised by Seto's assumption. "Just need ya to reposition that li'l beauty, that's all." He quirked a half-smile at the confused expression on Seto's face, and added, "Can't have anything obscuring the company logo. Corporate tends to frown on that -- as I'm sure you know, what with you bein' a Kaiba and all."

Seto did know. He looked down at his chest, for the first time aware of exactly where he had positioned the RID: directly over the Kaiba Corp patch on the left breast of the coverall. Resisting the nearly overwhelming urge to roll his eyes, he carefully repositioned the RID above the logo, then looked at Bacardi. "Will that satisfy company policy, Chief?"

"Sure as a three-day weekend in Vegas, Captain." He flashed a full-fledged grin, there and gone, then got down to business. He held up what looked like a slightly thicker version of a standard datapad. "This here's your diagnostic pad. It's set to run in guide mode, what we use for all new techs."

Seto grimaced. "I'm not exactly a novice when it comes to these machines, Chief. I do know my way around my Dragon."

"_You_ know that, and _I_ know that." Bacardi gestured to first Seto, then himself with an oil-stained thumb. "I know you love that machine just as much, if not more, than her crew does, and I ain't about to insult you by saying you don't. But orders is orders, Captain."

"Try to see it my way." Bacardi sighed. "Word comes down to treat ya like one of my techs, I treat ya like a tech. But you ever crawled around inside one of these babies tracin' a bad circuit?" He took Seto's silence for assent, and nodded. "I didn't think so."

"Use the guide-mode. It'll talk you through the tests you'll be running, no worries. You have a problem, just holler. I'll be up there," Bacardi jerked a thumb at the gantry, "seein' to some thin spots in the armor sealant. Don't want our Blue-Eyes poppin' a seal out there, now, do we?"

It wasn't until the other man had already started up the gantry lift that Seto found his voice. "Chief."

"Yeah, Captain?" Bacardi paused the lift, waiting, both eyebrows raised expectantly.

"When's your next KC performance review?"

Cautiously, all humor slipping from his face, Bacardi said, "Two weeks. Why?"

"No reason." Seto switched on the diagnostic pad and pretended to lose himself in contemplation of the text scrolling onto the small screen. Only when he heard the lift resume did he allow himself a tiny smile. Time to pay another visit to the Kaiba Corp mainframe. He had a feeling Bacardi's next review was going to be a good one.

--------------------------

_Kame Street Game Shop  
__Domino City  
__Arcadia Planitia  
__Kaiba Corporation Colony, Mars_

Yugi had finally stopped staring at his new pedal-cart after his grandpa threatened to cover it with advertisements for the game shop. Expressing his horror at ruining the glorious paint job with such blasphemy, Yugi had hastened to tuck the cart away in the garage, protected from old men armed with defacing stickers and signs. After he had wheeled the new cart into a safe spot against the wall, he glanced over at the old one, sitting crookedly just inside the doorway, where he and Yami had left it after their accident. The wrecked motorcycle was still parked beside it. Yami had departed so suddenly that Yugi hadn't been able to remind him about the bike, or even to ask him what the Mutous should do with it, if Yami didn't want to take it with him.

_Yami_...

Once again, Yugi found himself wishing that Yami hadn't run off so abruptly after their (completely innocent, as he had hastily assured his grandpa) night together. Of course, those two guys in the suits hadn't exactly given Yami much of a choice, but still... It would've been nice to have had breakfast together. And, maybe, he could've worked up the courage to find out what that kiss had really meant.

When Yugi had asked Yami if they would see each other again, Yami had said "no." But... Yugi found his gaze drawn back to the cart. Would Yami really have sent him such an expensive gift if he weren't at least a little bit interested? Maybe not romantically -- Yugi pouted a bit at the thought -- but, maybe, he would want to be friends?

Sighing, Yugi palmed off the garage light and headed upstairs to the apartment over the game shop. After Yugi's run-in with the crazy man in the striped costume, he had convinced Solomon to let him take an early lunch break. His mother was still sleeping, so Yugi puttered around the kitchen as quietly as he could, fixing himself a sandwich and soda. He decided to eat in his room, and took a tray with his food to the small, sunny bedroom at the end of the hallway.

After shoving a few books and stray games out of the way, he set the tray on his nightstand, then flopped onto the bed. He lay back for a moment, hands clasped behind his head, and contemplated the ceiling as if it held the key to the mysteries of the universe. Or one particular mystery, at least. How to unlock Yami's heart.

It was a puzzle he wasn't certain he could solve.

Speaking of puzzles... Yugi sat up, folded his legs beneath him, and reached for the box in which he kept the ancient puzzle his grandpa had given him. He dumped the puzzle pieces out onto the bed and studied them as they sparkled golden in the sunlight. When he picked up what would be the central piece once the puzzle was completed, the sculpted _udjat_ seemed to return his unblinking stare.

Rapidly, he assembled those parts of the puzzle he had already figured out. The pieces were warm to his touch, perhaps from the sunlight streaming through the bedroom window. The pieces seemed almost to glow as he carefully fitted them together.

His movements slowed as he began searching for ways to fit new pieces into the portion of the puzzle he had already solved. His fingers fumbled, turning the pieces this way and that. He chewed absently at his lower lip, smiling when he got a piece to click into place, frowning when an attempted strategy failed. As he worked, his focus narrowed to his hands and the puzzle resting on the bed before him. The very light around him seemed to dim as his vision tunneled in on itself.

"...Yugi!"

Yugi jumped, the puzzle piece he had been struggling with falling from his hand. Wide eyes blinked at the figure in the doorway. "Mom?"

Kimiko Mutou planted her hands on her hips and frowned at him in exasperation. "I've been calling you for five minutes, Yugi! What's so fascinating, anyway?"

"Sorry, Mom." Yugi ducked his head sheepishly. "I was just working on that Egyptian puzzle Grandpa gave me."

"Oh, that old thing." She waved her hand dismissively. "Well, put it away. I have to leave for work, soon, and Grandpa needs your help in the store."

"Okay, Mom. Sorry."

"Game-obsessed boy, always daydreaming," Kimiko murmured as she turned to go back up the hall. She still sounded annoyed, but her fondness for her only child came through clearly beneath the irritation. Yugi knew she wasn't really that angry; she hadn't even gotten out the ladle. "I don't know what I'm going to do with you!"

Hurrying to follow at her heels, Yugi laughed.

---------------

_Kaiba Corp Enhanced-Mecha Production Facility  
__Amazonis Planitia  
__Kaiba Corporation Colony, Mars_

The office Tanaka found for Yami's use was on the executive level, on the opposite side of the building from Nesbitt's office. Yami didn't think that was a coincidence; obviously, Tanaka was more perceptive than his timid appearance might at first suggest. The office was not as luxurious as his new accommodations back on Earth, but Yami wasn't interested in executive perks. As he had requested, there was a workstation with mainframe and global-net access; a telephone with a 'gate-sat line so he could, if need be, contact headquarters back on Earth in real-time; and an outer office with a desk for his newly-assigned assistant. In addition to the desk, the outer office held a potted ficus plant, an uncomfortable-looking visitor's chair, and a state-of-the-art coffee-maker.

He had a feeling that last item might prove more useful than the assistant, who had a disturbing tendency to bat her baby-blues at him whenever he glanced her way. He was almost certain she was deliberately hiking up her skirt by increments; it was distinctly shorter than it had been when Tanaka introduced them. It was with no small sense of relief that Yami finally sent her off to pull hard-copies of progress reports and personnel evaluations from the last year and a half. She gave him a disappointed pout as she departed on her errand.

Yami heaved a heartfelt sigh of relief. Determinedly not looking in Rafael's direction, he said, "You can go ahead and laugh, now."

The bodyguard made a strangled sound that was almost certainly not the cough it was meant to sound like, and said, "I'm sure I don't know what you mean, sir."

"Right." Yami allowed himself a small, rueful smile of his own, as he shook his head. "I'll just go into my office before you do yourself permanent damage trying to hold it in."

Without waiting for a reply, Yami matched action to words. As the door closed behind him, he heard Rafael finally lose control of the laughter he had been manfully repressing, though to his credit, he tried to keep it quiet. Yami's smile widened into a fleeting grin. If he _had_ to have a bodyguard shadowing his every step, at least he had gotten one with a sense of humor. No doubt that was one of the reasons Kazuki Kaiba had chosen Rafael to guard his son; he had known that Yami would resent the security officer's presence less if the man's personality did not clash too strongly with his own. Once again, Yami's father had surprised him with his understanding. Somehow, Yami had never quite realized just how well his father knew him.

Finally alone, Yami indulged in a minute to close his eyes and catch his metaphorical breath. He was determined to see his mission through to the bitter end, but he knew that he was not cut out to be a spy. He hated having to hide his true purpose from all around him. Deception didn't come naturally to him, and he chafed at the necessity of the subterfuge. Not knowing who he could trust was wearing on him, as well.

As he had done on Earth, he first made the rounds of the new office with his bug detector, checking for hidden surveillance devices. He ran the device over the door- and window-frames, the furniture, and the light fixtures. The red light on the handheld detector blinked, warning him as he passed it over the desk lamp. Yami quickly dismantled the lamp and found a tiny spy camera, perfectly positioned to record his every keystroke. The camera's lens could also have captured video of handwritten notes, he thought, noting the placement. Clever. He would, of course, disable the software that normally tracked a computer user's keystrokes before he made use of the workstation, but if he hadn't found the camera, there would have been a record of all his actions, anyway.

Just to be sure, Yami made another pass of the room with the detector. He was glad he had taken that extra precaution when the red light lit up a second time, this time as he swept the detector along the edge of a large -- and rather ugly -- painting hung on the wall behind his desk. The painting was of that particular school of "modern" art that, to him, resembled nothing so much as what might be found on the floor of a shower that had gone too long between scrubbings.

After he had disabled the second camera, Yami finally sat down behind his new desk. It was a far cry from the heavy antique he had been assigned back on Earth. This desk was about half the size, and constructed of translucent, smoky gray Lucite edged in brushed stainless steel. The telephone, computer station, lamp, and desk accessories were all encased in the same, coordinating metal. Even the stylus holder, which held a pair of real fountain pens as well as the expected plastic stylus for working on data pads and electronic tablets, was made of brushed stainless. Apparently, whoever had decorated the KC Mars offices had liked the "retro-future" look.

Activating the workstation, Yami quickly installed his ferret program and set it to run. The program was a useful one, he thought, remembering how he had come to have it. Seto had created the program a couple of years ago. As much as Yami hated to admit it, his cousin was the better programmer of the two, and one of Seto's hobbies was electronically poking around where he wasn't supposed to go.

After Yami had accidentally discovered Seto hacking into the corporate mainframe one night, he had wrangled a copy of the "ferret" for his own use. Now, he was very glad that he had. Even though it was several years old, Seto's program was still far more sophisticated than anything openly available on the market. It was even better than the infiltrator program Anderson had given him at the start of his mission, so he had opted to use Seto's ferret, instead. No doubt Seto had improved the program since Yami had gotten his copy, but there was no way Yami could ask for an upgrade without explaining what he needed it for -- and that he wasn't at liberty to do. Perhaps when this was all over he could convince Seto to sell the older version of the program to the company; he suspected they would have no problems marketing it to various government agencies...

Furtive movement caught his eye, startling him out of his distracted thoughts. Shadows swirled thickly in the near corner, almost as if they were slipping around the edges of the light to congregate there. Yami closed his eyes. It didn't help. He could still see them clearly in his mind's eye. The shadows were back.

_No_, he realized with a shudder, _they had never left_. Yami had just been too preoccupied with his mission, and his guilt, to notice them. He wondered if he should have spoken with Dr. Korone about them while he still had the chance. Yami knew that on some level the psychologist thought all Duel Mecha pilots were nuts. Korone maintained that no sane person would willingly tangle his mind and psyche so deeply with that of a machine, but he did his best to help those same pilots retain their human identities and their sense of self.

Perhaps it was for the best that he _hadn't_ gone to Dr. Korone about these... delusions. If Yami had told Korone that the shadows were attracted to him and starting to whisper in his ear... Well, instead of being here, trying to find a traitor, he'd be visiting an entirely different sort of facility, the kind with padded white walls and highly restrictive travel opportunities.

No, far better for him to deal with the shadows on his own. Maybe, once he understood exactly what had happened and why Anzu had died, the guilt would lessen, and the shadows would retreat back into his subconscious. Maybe the whispering would stop and he could... could...

Without Anzu, without his Anchor, what _could_ he do? After experiencing the life of a Duel Mech pilot, could he be anything else? He was supposed to be the CEO of Kaiba Corporation after his father stepped down. Once, perhaps, that would have been destiny enough for him. But now? After being the Dark Magician, could he truly be satisfied with any other life?

He suspected that he wouldn't be able to simply return to his desk job on Mars Station. He would probably stay at Kaiba Corp, heading up the enhanced-mecha division for his father until it was time for him to take his place as head of the company. His life would be one of suits and ties, business deals, formal dinners and charity events with prominent politicians, captains of industry... He would be forced to give in to his father's wishes, meet the _nakodo_, the go-between, and find someone to take Anzu's place. His heart cringed at the thought of the bleak prospects that lay before him.

"When did my life become so empty?" He groaned aloud, closing his eyes again and slumping over until his forehead touched the cool, Lucite surface of the desk.

_When you let Anzu die_.

"No... I _tried_... I couldn't save her... "

He had over-ridden the safety protocols built into the mech's AI to literally rip at his own chest armor in order to reach her. It had taken a supreme act of will; the mech's programming was supposed to prevent such deliberate self-damage. But the blast that had seared through the Dark Magician's torso, frying delicate circuitry and crisping random electronics, had also fused shut the escape hatch in the mech's chest plastron. Tearing himself apart once he reached the landing platform was the only was to ensure the rescue teams could reach her in time. Maybe, if his will had been stronger, if he hadn't wasted so much time battling the safety protocols... Maybe they would have reached her in time. Maybe she would have lived. He would give his own life in an instant, if it meant Anzu would not have had to die.

As if reacting to his thoughts, the shadows swirled with agitation. Now, not just the corner, but the entire wall nearest him had grown dark with thick tendrils that writhed and reached for him across the empty space between his desk and the wall. They crept along the ceiling, blacking out the light; they crawled along the floor, curling about his ankles like ephemeral kittens seeking his attention. He felt their icy caress on his flesh and yelped, leaping to his feet and looking around with wild, frightened eyes.

The door burst open, revealing Rafael, gun in hand. He leaped across the room to Yami's side, grabbing him by the shoulders and shoving him toward the door. The shadows had retreated at Yami's cry, however, and there was no obvious threat. Nonetheless, Rafael hastily ushered his principle into the outer office and closed the door firmly behind them. At her desk, Yami's temporary assistant stared at them with wide eyes.

"S-should I call security?" she stammered, reaching for the phone. When Rafael glared her to silence, she quickly shrank back behind the desk. He turned back to his principle.

"Are you all right, sir?" Rafael asked, steadying Yami against the wall and carefully placing himself between Yami and the rest of the room. "What happened?"

Yami hesitated. He couldn't very well tell Rafael that he had been frightened by figments of his imagination, the embodiment of his own guilt over Anzu's death. But his heart was still trip-hammering in his chest and Yami thought that he might throw up. He sagged, and Rafael caught him under the elbow and helped him over to the nearest chair, displacing the secretary, who alternated between glaring at Rafael for making her move and making solicitous noises at her obviously ill employer.

"Sir?"

Yami stared hard at the dark space underneath the secretary's desk, but the shadows were simply that, shadows, and not the living darkness that had tried to wrap itself around him before.

_Am I going insane?_ he thought, eyes narrowing as pain stabbed abruptly through his temples. Yami gasped at the sudden onslaught, nearly doubling over as his hands flew up to clutch at his head. _Not this, again! First the shadows, now the migraine... General Anderson could certainly have chosen his agent more wisely_.

"You've been working too hard, sir," Rafael said quietly. "Perhaps you should take a break, maybe get something to eat? We can be at the Domino estate in less than an hour..."

Not trusting himself to speak, Yami simply nodded. He was too tired, and in too much pain, to argue.

"I'll call the car around for you," the secretary offered, reaching for the phone on her desk.

"No," Rafael said, his gravelly voice firm. "Call the helipad and tell them to get ready. We'll take the KC helicopter." Seeing the question in Yami's eyes, he added, "It's faster. And safer."

Again, Yami nodded. The helicopter could fly them to Arcadia Planitia, where Domino City was located, far more quickly than they could drive the distance.

"Fine," Yami rasped, as Rafael helped him to his feet. Maybe the bodyguard was right; maybe all he needed was some rest and some food, and then everything would make sense, again. Suddenly, retreating to the local family estate for a few hours seemed like a very good idea.

"I'll return... later," Yami said vaguely, in the general direction of his assistant. It was a measure of her worry for him that she didn't even attempt to flirt. "Please have the files I requested ready for me by tomorrow morning."

"Of course, Mr. Kaiba," she said, with a respectful bow. "Please feel better, soon."

"Come, sir," Rafael said, gently but firmly taking his arm and hustling him toward the elevator. "Let's get you home."

Weary beyond words, Yami let him.

---------------------

_SSDF Orbital Station 002  
__Mars orbit_

The office door slid open at his touch on the control plate, but still Mokuba hesitated. This wasn't something he did lightly. When he faltered on the threshold, a friendly male voice called out to him from the room beyond.

"Hey, if it isn't my favorite Kaiba!" Dr. Korone's light tenor was warm and teasing. Mokuba didn't try to hide the answering smile that bloomed at the welcome. Even though he was a psychologist, someone that Seto instinctively regarded as 'the enemy', Dr. Korone had never been anything but a friend to Mokuba. "Don't just stand in the door, kid. You're letting all the flies out -- and do you have any idea how hard it is to collect flies in outer space?"

Laughing under his breath, Mokuba stepped into the office. The room was furnished in welcoming colors and comfortable furniture. Soft carpet muffled his footsteps as he crossed over to the observation window, its metal shutters open to reveal the bright jewel of the terraformed world 'below' them. He joined the tall man already standing at the window, gazing out at the majestically rotating planet. Mokuba had hit a growth-spurt at seventeen; while he wasn't yet as tall as his big brother, he and Korone were almost the same height. "Hey, Doctor K."

"Haven't seen you in a while, Mokuba," Korone noted, glancing over at him. "Things been going okay for you?"

Mokuba nodded automatically, though inside he was wondering. "I guess so."

"Okay." Korone settled one shoulder more comfortably against the window frame, a knowing half-smile coming to rest on his lips. "So... What can I do for you, today?"

"Um..." Again, Mokuba hesitated. He felt guilty about coming to see the psychologist like this, as if he were somehow betraying Seto, who practically had to be dragged into the doctor's office by security for his compulsory monthly appointments. "I'm a little worried about Se--" Somehow, he couldn't quite form his brother's name. Instead, he heard himself blurt out, "--S-Serenity."

Both of Korone's eyebrows went up, but he didn't say anything yet, just waited patiently for Mokuba to continue.

"Do you think her brother's going to be all right?" Mokuba asked. It was far easier to talk about the Wheeler siblings than his own. "She's really scared..."

Just like he was scared that something terrible was going to happen to Seto. It almost had, after all. First the crippling hit to Blue-Eyes that had sent Mokuba into such a panic that he had almost forgotten all of his Anchor training, and now this. It was hard enough to deal with when Seto had his Dragon to protect him; the thought of him out there with nothing but a Valkyrie between him and the dangers of combat was featuring strongly in Mokuba's most recent nightmares.

"Do you... Do you think Joey's going to be all right?" he asked, his voice little more than a whisper. Saying the words out loud felt too much like making them reality.

Dr. Korone reached out and clasped his shoulder briefly. "I think Joey is getting the best medical care in the solar system, and that if anything can be done for him, it will be."

"But... What if it can't?" Mokuba persisted. "What if... What if there's nothing anyone can do? That weird weapon that hit him--"

"I won't lie to you, buddy," Korone said. The solemn expression on the doctor's face was far from reassuring. "It doesn't look good, right now. But where there's life, there's hope. It's a hokey old saying, but it's true. We have to remember that, and not give up on Joey. For Serenity's sake, if nothing else."

"Yeah." Mokuba stared at the floor. Doctor K was right, but that didn't make the heavy weight in Mokuba's chest any lighter. Neither did it lessen his worry over Seto. The nightmares were coming more and more frequently lately, and Seto had begun to say things in his sleep -- things that made Mokuba fear for his brother's sanity. "I know you're right, I just... It's hard, y'know?"

"Yeah, I know," Korone said gently. He gestured invitingly toward the cozy grouping of chairs on the opposite side of the room. "Want to talk about it?"

"Yeah," Mokuba whispered around the tightness in his throat. "I think maybe I do."

----------------------

For such a routinely busy place, Medical was eerily quiet, Mai thought as she made her way through the medical ring to the ICU. In the observation area, she found the pair of rookie pilots standing awkwardly in front of the glass wall. The pair of them looked as if they weren't quite sure what to do with themselves as they took turns alternately staring at the ceiling or the toes of their own shoes. Mai gave a tiny shake of her head. _Men_...

"Hello, boys," she said, sauntering into the room with far more swagger in her step than she really felt like assaying. "How's..." She had to swallow in order to continue, but made a valiant effort to keep up the jocular tone. "How's our hero?"

"There's been no perceptible change," Bakura said quietly. He was currently studying the tips of his shoes, white-blond hair obscuring his features from view. Mai wondered absently is the color was natural or the result of a fancy dye-job. Either way, it was striking, especially with those chocolate-brown eyes. "The nurse says they'll be transferring him to the base hospital, later today."

Mai nodded absently, her attention focused tightly on Joey's face. She wished she could say he looked like he was only sleeping, but there was an... _absence_ there that chilled her to the bone. Her fingertips pressed to the glass, she whispered, "Oh, Joey... How do you always get yourself into these things?"

Leon cleared his throat. "Um, we'd better go, Bakura. We're supposed to run through the practice course, again..."

Listening to him trail off like that, Mai realized that Joey had been scheduled to be their proctor on the course. Her slender fingers curled against the glass, lacquered nails biting into her palms. "Who's your Guardian Mech?" she asked, trying -- and failing -- to force lightness into her tone.

"My brother," Leon said. The was a strange tension in his voice; when she looked at him, Mai realized that he was torn between pride at having his brother watch over him, and sorrow over what had made it necessary.

"Don't you worry about it, kiddo," Mai said, drawing herself up to her full height and straightening her shoulders. She planted one hand firmly on her hip and shook back her long blonde hair. "Joey Wheeler's as tough as they come. It won't be long before he's back in the saddle."

"Yes," Bakura said, seeming to take strength from her determination. "I'm sure you're right. We should have faith in him."

"You got it," Mai said. "I've known Joey for awhile, now, and let me tell you -- he's no pushover! Give him a few days, and he'll be back out there, showing those ugly aliens who's the boss."

"Right!"

Bakura and Leon both nodded, obviously cheered by her speech. Mai held the pose -- chin up, shoulders back, confident smile plastered firmly on her lips -- until the two boys had murmured their good-byes and departed for their training run. Then she sagged back against the glass divider, and tried valiantly to ignore the hot moisture burning her eyes. Slowly, she lost the battle and, as she slid gracelessly to the cold tile floor, the tears finally spilled over.

Huddled around her grief and loneliness, Mai wept.

----------------------

The next test indicated by Seto's diagnostic pad used one of the interface ports tucked up out of the way on the back of the Blue-Eyes' skull. On the gantry, an attached "creeper" could be extended to allow a technician access to the underside of the mech's head. The pad offered a step-by-step guide for use of the creeper, highlighted the port Seto needed, and gave detailed instructions for attaching his pad to the interface port. Luckily, he suffered from neither a fear of heights, nor, he thought as he eyed the cramped access hatch on the underside of the Dragon's skull, enclosed spaces. However, when he had ridden the gantry lift up to the hatch in question, he found it already occupied.

Only the lower half of the purple-jumpsuited tech was visible on the fully-extended creeper. Even across the space between them, Seto could hear the cadence of her voice as it rose and fell; she was talking to the mech. Sighing, he briefly considered skipping this particular reading and coming back to it when she was gone. He had no desire to have even a brief encounter with the trust-obsessed Gears. However, before he could put his (admittedly cowardly) plan into action, the platform began to lower and, servos humming, smoothly retracted to become part of the gantry again.

Gears looked up from where she was focused myopically on her datalink screen, then blinked in apparent confusion. Scrambling to her feet, she exclaimed, "Captain Kaiba? What are you doing here?"

"Working," Seto said shortly, in the vain hope that would end the conversation before it began. He held up his diagnostic pad and gestured vaguely toward the hatchway she had just vacated.

"But you're not a --" she began. Seto cut her off.

"I'm being punished," he said sharply. Seto was beginning to think General Anderson was far more sadistic than he had previously given the man credit for -- especially when Gears stepped forward to peer at the circuit diagram on his display screen.

"Ah," she said, nodding as she read the display. "I see you've got the B-E-Alpha-Delta-two-four-nine direct feed reading next. The coupling for that one's a bit tricky. I'm used to it, since I take that reading pretty much all the time. Do you want me to connect it for you?"

He stared at her earnest expression, and wondered if she were deliberately baiting him. "I can handle _my_ job, Dr. Mann. I suggest you do the same."

"Fine." She clipped out the word and shoved past him, her face flushed with either irritation or embarrassment -- or possibly both.

She stepped onto the lift platform as he moved easily onto the creeper, and Seto thought he heard her mutter something about having better things to do than babysit arrogant pilots who wanted to play technician. Seto snorted softly. He could count on one hand the people whose opinion of him mattered, and Gears most definitely wasn't one of them. He shrugged, dismissing her from his mind, already focusing back on the task at hand.

Following the on-screen directions, he maneuvered the creeper out to the back of the Dragon's skull and gained access to the hatchway. The coupling was tricky, he admitted to himself as he lay on the creeper, the upper half of his body buried in the tangle of wires and hoses that made up the interior of this section of the mech. After a bit of inspired cursing, he finally got the lead from his pad to line up and link properly with the port inside the mech. Only after he had successfully taken the required reading did it occur to Seto how the Dragon might have interpreted his frustration. Hastily, he brushed his hand over the RID, projecting reassurances.

"I'm not angry with you," Seto said firmly. "It's not _your_ fault some idiot designed this access-port for midget contortionists."

Even though he wasn't in gestalt, and thus wasn't privy to his Dragon's thoughts, Seto could have sworn he felt the Blue-Eyes laugh.


	14. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

_Kaiba family estate, just outside Domino City  
__Arcadia Planitia  
__Kaiba Corporation Colony, Mars_

Yami had reluctantly given in to Rafael's politely-worded but uncompromising insistence that a physician be summoned to the Kaiba estate. By the time the doctor arrived, Yami's head was throbbing in time with his heartbeat, and he would gladly have agreed to almost anything just to make the pain go away. The doctor had examined him, pronounced her opinion that Yami was under too much stress, and given him an injection for the pain. With a parting admonition to make an appointment for a follow-up visit should the headaches persist, the doctor left Yami to sleep off the combined effects of the migraine and the medication.

Although he had initially had no intention of napping, Yami found himself unable to fight the soporific effects of the medicine. He stretched out on a bed in one of the upstairs bedrooms and was soon lost in a drugged, restless doze.

The dreams that came to him were anything but sweet.

-------------------------

_SSDF Orbital Station 003_  
_Jupiter orbit  
__(One standard year ago...)_

Chaos surrounded him.

On all sides, pieces of destroyed mecha littered the black of space with tumbling points of reflected light. Between the chunks of debris, Valkyries and smaller mecha dodged and weaved as they exchanged fire with the enemy's mecha, ugly gray hulks that bore a strange, glowing green seal on their metal foreheads. A stream of escape pods poured from the ruins of Jupiter Station in the background, racing toward the distant jump-gate and its heavily-armed guardians. Somewhere to Dark Magician's right, the Blue-Eyes White Dragon pulverized his opponent with a well-timed shot from his rail-gun, sending sparkling bits of metal flying in every direction. To his left, the Red-Eyes Black Dragon did the same.

In the thick of the battle, Dark Magician pivoted to bring his weapon to bear on an enemy mech just as the Orichalcos Soldier fired at a cluster of escape pods. Dark Magician dove at the Soldier. The beam from his staff weapon smashed a gaping hole in the Soldier's torso, but the thing continued to fire at the escape pods, and his assault on it had drawn the attention of two of its comrades.

Dark Magician calculated the angles of the incoming projectiles, then dropped straight "down," toward the station and out of the line of fire. One of the Orichalcos Soldiers erupted into brief flame, quickly extinguished, as it took friendly fire from its own partner. The others followed the Magician as he wove a dizzying path through the battlefield.

Unlike the clumsier Orichalcos Soldiers, Dark Magician was lithe and agile, built for both speed and maneuverability. He used that and every trick at his disposal, now, attempting to shake the enemy mecha off his tail. As he flashed past a cluster of debris, he spotted a damaged escape pod drifting toward the thick of the fire-fight. His sensors told him that the pod's occupants were alive. Cursing inwardly, he feinted left to throw his pursuers off-guard, then dove toward the pod.

The escape pod was a spherical construct just big enough to hold four people, provided they didn't mind being overly friendly. Dark Magician grabbed it in both arms and looked around for a rescue mech. Seeing none, he shot toward the 'gate.

"Shield Knight One," he called to the heavily-armored, and -armed, sentinels who guarded the jump-gate. "Heads-up!"

He gave the escape pod a strong shove toward the nearest of the twin Knights guarding the 'gate. The Knight grabbed the pod and gently ushered it through the 'gate. Satisfied that an R-mech would pick it up on the other side and escort the pod to safety back on Mars, Dark Magician turned back to the battle.

The impact slammed into him without warning, sending a shockwave through his body and temporarily overloading his sensors. Blind and deaf with both sensors and comm off-line, he hung helplessly in space. Battle-seasoned though he was, he had never lost all external input before. It was like floating in a sensory deprivation tank, a tiny speck of consciousness lost in an endless black void. The urge for input, for light, was almost overwhelming. His training urged him to deepen his gestalt, to solidify his connection with his "other self," but his need to see, an atavistic fear of the darkness, urged him even more strongly to do whatever was necessary to bring back the light.

"You need to remain calm," a soft, feminine voice reminded him as, in a burst of static, the internal comm came back to life. It was Anzu, his Anchor, gently encouraging his vital signs back down into their passive resting state, not quite asleep, but not really conscious. In that state, he could forget himself enough to meld with the machine. Only then could he be the Dark Magician. "Redundant systems are coming up. Sensors should be back... _Now_."

And, just like that, he could sense his surroundings, again. After a few more seconds, other critical systems had re-routed themselves to their back-ups, and he could see, again. He almost wished that he couldn't. He was face-to-ugly-face with an Orichalcos Soldier, its weapon aimed for his "heart." He tried to dodge, and managed only to turn partially aside before the shot blazed through his torso.

As everything went black for the second time in as many minutes, he heard Anzu scream.

The impact set off a cascade of alarms throughout the cockpit. Gestalt slipped enough that Yami was suddenly seeing things through two sets of eyes: his own and Dark Magician's. Awareness of his human body returned in a white-hot rush of pain -- burning all down his left side and knifing through his temples.

The disorientation left his head spinning dizzily. He groped for balance, even as he swung his staff weapon around to bear on yet another Orichalcos Soldier and discharged the particle beam. The blast of blue-black energy through its torso sent the enemy mech tumbling in pieces. He thought vaguely that it might be the same mech he had hit before. Bits of it struck others of its kind, damaging them and adding to the pandemonium around him.

The indicator on his weapon status display blinked into the red, along with most of the rest of the mech's systems. Panting in the suddenly stale atmosphere and fighting the waves of nauseating pain crashing through him, Yami called down to the secondary cockpit in the mech's torso, "Anzu? Life-support just switched to back-up. Are you okay down there?"

Silence.

"Anzu?" Suddenly afraid, he checked the comm-system read-out; it was one of the few indicators still showing green. "Anzu, can you hear me?"

"I... I'm here..." The response was stilted, her voice trembling and filled with agony. "Are you... hurt, Yami?"

"No," he lied, blithely ignoring the pain shooting through his temples and the smell of scorched cloth where his flightsuit had caught a spark from an exploding panel. His head throbbed in time with his heartbeat and his vision was blurry. None of it mattered now. There would be time enough for cataloguing his injuries later, after the battle.

Gestalt continued to slip, and the pain of it tore at his mind, but he forced himself to concentrate on his instruments. Right now, he had more important things to worry about than whether or not he was going to end up with a "gestalt hangover" when this was all over.

He called up a full status report and cringed at the extent of the damage. The blast had hit him in the torso, in what should have been one of the most heavily shielded areas on the mech. Somehow, the alien projectile had penetrated his armor, damaging the secondary cockpit and setting off a chain reaction inside the delicate electronics systems. Now, his legs were nearly useless; he could barely sense them, much less move them. His thrusters were sputtering, and his weapons systems were off-line. That final shot from the staff was the only one he was getting.

Systems continued to shift into the red, even as he watched with horrified eyes. Life-support was already on back-up. Fire suppression had worked long enough to put out the fires before they could spread, but if something sparked now, they were going to go up like a torch. The initial impact had fused the relays on his chest plastron shut; closer inspection showed him that the emergency hatch was useless, as well. It was going to take the Jaws of Life to wrench Anzu out of the Anchor cradle in his chest. The mech was leaking vital fluids into space. And Anzu...

His Anchor's biofeedback readings sent a pang of agony through his heart. "_Anzu_..."

"Just... get us back... to the station," she said, her voice growing weaker with every word. The wild fluctuations in her readings stabilized for a moment, as she attempted to help him strengthen his gestalt so that he could pilot them to safety. "Don't worry... about me, for now. We'll ...deal with it... there."

He heard the resolve in her voice, felt it when her mind touched his through the pilot/Anchor interface and, in spite of the terrible pain she was suffering, began to ease him back into proper union with the Magician. His vision resolved back into a single point as his consciousness aligned once more with the AI. The pilot heads-up display ceased to have any meaning for him, and the pain faded as Yami's eyes closed. His body slumped in its support sling as his mind once again merged with that of the machine.

Dark Magician wished that he could support his Anchor, send some of his strength to her, as she had loaned him some of hers. His frantic worry for her safety made him long to be able to climb down into the secondary cockpit and see for himself the extent of her injuries. But he was trapped by his need to remain in gestalt. Getting them back to the station was undeniably the best course of action -- Anzu needed immediate medical attention, if her bio readings were anything to go by. He needed to get her help, and soon.

Dark Magician's thrusters fired, then stuttered. At least it was enough to get him moving. Unfortunately, it was in the wrong direction, and attitude control was as fubared as the rest of him. Self-repair was attempting to get the most vital systems back on-line, but the damage was simply too great.

Dark Magician radioed for help.

A moment later, the Blue-Eyes White Dragon was there, just in time to fire at an advancing Soldier. Blue-Eyes grabbed him unceremoniously by one arm, spun him around, and towed him toward the jump-gate, all the while continuing to fire at the enemy mecha. Blue-Eyes held off the enemy fighters while the remaining refugees from Jupiter Station disappeared through the gate. Then he flung Dark Magician into the jump-gate and dove in after him.

The enemy followed.

--------------------------

_Kaiba estate  
__Just outside Domino City  
Arcadia Planitia__  
__Kaiba Corporation Colony, Mars  
__(Now...)_

Yami moaned, moving fretfully on the bed as he fought to break free of drugged sleep... and the dream. His head tossed on the pillow and his limbs thrashed, fighting the entangling covers, but he couldn't break the grip of the nightmare, the memory, which had dug its claws deep into his unconscious. Only when large hands caught his shoulders and gave him a rough shake did sleep reluctantly release him.

Yami opened his eyes to find Rafael standing over him, a concerned expression on the bodyguard's usually stoic features. Rafael frowned. "Sir? Should I call the doctor back?"

It took Yami a second to wake up enough to process the question. Finally, he shook his head. It ached. "No." His voice was a rough croak. Swallowing hard, he added, "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Rafael looked skeptical, but he didn't argue. Instead, he straightened and stepped back from the bed. "I'll be outside if you need anything, sir," he said, then strode from the bedroom. The door closed quietly behind him.

Alone again, Yami lay for a moment and stared at the ceiling with blank eyes. His stomach churned with acid and the emotions stirred up by the nightmare memory. _Anzu_... He felt moisture on his cheeks, and scrubbed impatiently at his face, erasing the tears he couldn't admit to having shed.

_A man does not cry, my son_, his father's voice chided in his head, and Yami gave a bitter laugh. A man doesn't allow his fiancée to die for him, either -- but he had, and now the path that stretched before him was a lonely one, indeed. The shadows pooled in the corners of the room seemed to writhe in sympathy.

_Will you still be there, following me into that dark future?_ he thought bleakly._ My own pet shadows, reminding me of the glory I once held and lost. Without love, without purpose... With only madness lurking ahead of me... What hope is there for me, now?_

He rolled onto his side, and his gaze fell on a crystal vase one of the maids had set on the nightstand. The vase was filled with a bouquet of some kind of blue flowers. They reminded him of... _Blue eyes, such a deep blue they hinted at purple, smiled up at him from memory. _And with them came the remembrance of a warm, surprisingly strong embrace that had chased away the shadows once before.

_Yugi_.

Suddenly, Yami was consumed with an undeniable need to see Yugi again, to bask even for just a moment in the warmth of that open, friendly soul. Throwing aside the covers, Yami shoved himself to his feet and began searching for something suitable to wear.

Half-dressed and pulling on a fresh pair of jeans, he stumbled to the bedroom door and shouted down the hallway, "Rafael! We're going out!"

-----------------------

_Kame Street Game Shop  
__Domino City  
Arcadia Planitia  
__Kaiba Corporation Colony, Mars_

When the downstairs chime sounded, Yugi was slouched on the battered sofa in the living room. His socked feet propped on the coffee table, he was frowning at the golden puzzle pieces scattered on the cushion beside him. After his earlier success, he had been unable to fit even one more piece into place, though he had constructed enough of the puzzle to be able to envision the final shape it would take: an inverted pyramid, with the _udjat_ at its center.

The door chime cut through his frustrated thoughts as he sat toying with one of the uncooperative pieces. Heaving himself to his feet, Yugi called to his grandfather, who was puttering about in the kitchen, "I'll get it, Grandpa!" and trotted down the stairs to the front door.

Yugi opened the door without checking the security screen... and froze when he saw the slim, spiky-haired figure waiting for him on the front step. He swallowed hard, attempting to dislodge his heart, which seemed to have leapt up into his throat.

"Yami!"

Yami was dressed casually in black jeans and a sleeveless shirt that buckled across the chest. One hand was still extended to reach the door-chime; the other was, for some reason, hidden behind his back. He cleared his throat. "Hello, Yugi. I hope I'm not disturbing you?"

_Not in the way you mean,_ Yugi most definitely did _not_ say. He shook his head and tried to remember what casual conversation should sound like. "Not at all! Um... What are you-- I mean, uh, do you want to come in?"

Yami turned his head slightly to glance over his shoulder. Only then did Yugi register the presence of the second man on his doorstep. This one looked a lot like one of the two hulking security men from before: easily over six feet, broad-shoulders straining the seams of his tailored black jacket, close-cropped blond hair at odds with his extravagant side-burns. Dragging his gaze back to Yami, Yugi hastily added, "Your friend can come in, too."

Shaking his head, Yami smiled softly. "That's okay. I just wanted to come by and... and make certain the new cart was delivered properly. You did receive it?"

"Uh, yeah. And it's great, Yami, but I can't accept --"

"I insist." Yami's smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. "Yugi, it was my fault that your cart was damaged. I feel terrible that my carelessness not only ruined your property, but also injured you. I can't go back and stop myself from acting irresponsibly, so... Please. Let me do this."

Well, if he was going to put it like _that_... Yugi didn't see how he could refuse. His gaze dropped to his toes, and he nodded slowly. "O-okay. I guess... If it will make you feel better."

"It will."

They were silent for a long moment, then Yugi felt warm fingers ghost beneath his chin to tip his face up. His eyes widened as they met Yami's gaze. Yami's dark eyes seemed to see right through him, into the depths of his heart. A shiver ran down his spine, and he found himself leaning almost hungrily into Yami's feather-light touch...

"Here." With an abruptness that left Yugi blinking and swaying on his toes, Yami stepped back and shoved a small bundle of...something... into his arms. "These are for you."

Yugi stared at the offering in confusion. Yami had brought him…flowers? Tentatively, he studied the rather clumsy bouquet. Perched atop thick green stems, the blooms were a velvety, bluish-purple, like the sky just after sunset. He stroked one wide, curving petal. The soft, fuzzy yellow beard arching down its center tickled his fingertip. "Irises, right?"

"...What?"

"The flowers." Very carefully he did not look up at Yami, but continued concentrating on the petals, tracing their graceful contours with his finger. "They're irises, right?"

"I guess."

Now Yugi did look up, in time to see Yami's embarrassed shrug.

"I don't know much about flowers. They just…" Yami looked away, but not before Yugi had seen the faint pink staining his high cheekbones. "They reminded me of your eyes."

"…Oh." It took a moment for the meaning of the mumbled words to properly sink in. Then... "_Oh!_" Yugi's eyes were wide, but he was trying desperately for outward composure. He clutched the bouquet to his chest, his heart pounding. "Thank you."

Hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, Yami shrugged again. Then, very carefully, he slanted a worried-looking glance at Yugi. In a far-too-casual voice, he asked, "So… Do you like them?"

"What…? Oh! The flowers!" Yugi pulled himself together with a deep breath and a sunny smile. "Yes. They're beautiful. I like them a lot!"

"Good." Yami gave a satisfied nod. He turned to leave.

Yugi's heart clenched. He's _leaving_? Wha-- "Wait!"

Yami hesitated, looking back at him over one shoulder, a question in his eyes. Yugi cast about frantically for something to delay him further. Inspiration came in a flash. "Your bike! You left it here the other day... Remember? Do you want to get it?"

"I guess I should," Yami said, turning back. Yugi forced his breathing to slow down to something approaching normal.

"C'mon," he said, gesturing toward the side of the house. "It's still in the garage."

Yugi led the way around to the side door. The man in the black suit followed behind them, not close enough to intrude upon their conversation, but close enough to make it clear he was keeping a watchful eye on things. Yugi thumbed open the garage door and waved Yami inside.

"It's just as you left it," Yugi said. "I wasn't sure what you wanted to do with it..."

"_I'm_ not sure what I'm going to do with it." Yami chuckled, then glanced back at his companion. "Rafael, can you arrange to have this motorcycle delivered to the estate?"

"Of course, sir." Rafael pulled a phone from his jacket and turned away to make his call.

"Thanks for taking care of my bike, Yugi," Yami said. "I appreciate it."

"I didn't do anything, really." Yugi dug his toes into the ground. To cover his sudden embarrassment, he lifted the bouquet to his face and inhaled the light scent of the flowers. "Thank you for the new cart. It's really great... How did you know that purple's my favorite color?"

"Lucky guess." A smile flickered across Yami's features, warming them briefly. "I'm glad you like it."

"I do!" Yugi faltered, unable to think of suitable small talk. He had never been very good at it, and being near Yami had the unfortunate tendency to render him speechless. As the silence stretched between them, Yugi worried that Yami would grow bored or decide that Yugi didn't want to talk to him. Then Yami would leave, and Yugi might never see him, again. But what could he say...?

Yugi's stomach growled suddenly, helpfully reminding him that he hadn't actually eaten the lunch he had fixed, and that it was nearing evening. That was it! He could invite Yami to have dinner with him! He was suddenly grateful that he had been too distracted earlier by the puzzle to eat. "A-are you hungry? I was going to go get a burger. You could, maybe…join me? I hate eating alone."

Yugi's fingers tightened nervously around the stems of his flowers, making the petals tremble. He was unaware that he was holding his breath, waiting for Yami's answer. Finally, Yami nodded.

"Yeah," he said softly. "I think... I mean, yes. I'd like that."

Yugi beamed. "Great! There's a Burger World about a block from here. We can walk... If that's okay with you."

"Yes, it's fine."

Yami glanced at the man in black, who tucked his phone back into his jacket and reported, "It's taken care of, Mr. Kaiba."

Yami gave a satisfied nod. "Good. Now that that's out of the way... Shall we go?"

This last was directed at Yugi, who said, "I just need to tell Grandpa that we're leaving." He glanced at the flowers he was still clutching. "And put these in some water... Will you wait here for me? I'll be right back."

"Of course."

----------------------

Yugi thundered up the stairs and skidded into the kitchen. He nearly bowled over Solomon on his way to the sink, where he grabbed a random tumbler from the dishwasher and stuffed the flowers into it. As he ran some water from the tap into the glass, he babbled out in a single breath, "Hi, Grandpa! My friend Yami is here and we're going to Burger World to get something to eat and I'll be back in a few hours, okay? Bye, Grandpa!"

Solomon blinked at him as Yugi ran back the way he had come, socks sliding on the kitchen flooring. "...Okay, Yugi. Have fun."

"I will!"

Yugi dashed back out into the hall and staggered around in a distracted circle as he tried to remember exactly where he had left his shoes. He gave a triumphant cry as he almost fell over them, then shoved his feet into his sneakers and half-ran, half-fell back down the stairs. Outside the door into the garage, he paused briefly to pat down his hair, and try to catch his breath. He didn't want to appear _too_ eager, after all.

As promised, Yami was waiting for him. Yugi smiled up at him. "Okay, we can go now."

They started down the street, walking side by side. Yami's black-suited friend trailed a few paces behind them. Yugi tried to ignore their silent shadow, but after a few minutes his discomfort forced him to say something. "Um... Yami?"

"Yes?"

"Is he just gonna... follow us?" Yugi darted a nervous glance back at the much-larger man, who returned his gaze stoically from behind his dark glasses.

"I'm afraid so." Beside him, Yami sighed. "His name is Rafael Santoro. He's my bodyguard. He won't interfere, but he'll have to come with us wherever we go. Does that bother you?"

"N-no," Yugi said, cursing his stumbling tongue as it tripped over the lie. "I mean... I've never really known anyone who had a bodyguard before, that's all. It's all a bit strange, I guess. But it's okay. Really. I'm sure I'll get used to it in no time."

He peeked sideways at Yami in time to catch the flash of amusement that curved Yami's lips for just a moment. Well, at least he wasn't angry. Yugi huffed out a breath and risked edging a bit closer, so that their arms brushed occasionally as they walked. When Yami didn't move away, Yugi again felt that warmth uncurling in the pit of his stomach. It was a feeling he could very easily get used to.

Actually, he thought, with another glance back at Rafael, he felt a little sorry for the bodyguard. How boring it must be to have to follow someone around all day and not even be able to carry on a normal conversation with them. Maybe that was why Rafael seemed so somber.

Yugi turned so that he was walking backward, facing Rafael. For some reason, he knew that he could trust Yami to keep him from walking into something or falling down. Yugi peered up at the bodyguard, who towered over him even with the distance between them. "So... Do you like being a bodyguard?"

Rafael's expression, such as it was, didn't change. "Yes."

"Do you like being Yami's bodyguard?"

That got a reaction, from both Rafael and Yami, who half-turned to catch Rafael's answer. "Yes," Rafael said after a slight hesitation. The corners of his eyes crinkled behind his dark glasses. "He can be very entertaining."

Uncertain what to make of that, Yugi blinked at him, then at Yami. Yami snorted, rolled his eyes, and faced forward again. As he turned, he curled his arm around Yugi's shoulders, turning him as well.

"Come on, Yugi," Yami said, laughter in his voice, "I don't know about you, but I'm starving."

At that moment, Yugi would have agreed to just about anything. Yami's arm was around him! It felt nice, comfortable. It was a disappointment when they reached the door of the restaurant and Yami moved ahead to open the door. _Noooo_, Yugi mourned inwardly. _Put the arm back!_

Inside the restaurant, Rafael discreetly herded them toward a booth in the back, then selected a seat for himself that was nearby and that allowed him an unobstructed view of the dining room. As they ate their burgers and fries, they talked first of inconsequential things: the weather, the new cart, the game shop. Finally, Yugi got around to asking the question that had been on his mind since he had first seen Yami standing on his doorstep.

"So... How long are you going to be on Mars?"

Yami chewed thoughtfully on a french fry. After swallowing, he said, "There's a problem at the Kaiba Corp facility at Amazonis Planitia. I'll be here until it's fixed, I suppose."

"What kind of problem is it?" Yugi asked, unable to keep himself from hoping that the problem, whatever it was, would take a long time to set right. Then he chided himself for the unworthy thought. It wasn't very friendly to wish trouble on someone, especially someone you liked. But... He so wanted to continue seeing Yami, and if the problem kept him on Mars for awhile longer...

Yugi listened attentively while Yami explained about the mecha production facility and how some of the robots being produced were not up to Kaiba Corp standards. It was actually all pretty interesting, Yugi thought, his imagination conjuring up images of the giant robots.

"It must be something to see them being built," he said, then took a huge bite of his hamburger. Burgers were his favorite food, but he could rarely convince his mother or grandpa to make them, so going to Burger World was a special treat. Yami's company was making things even better; hamburgers and fries had never tasted quite so good.

"Would you like to visit the factory, sometime?" Yami asked. "I could take you on a tour, if you want."

Hastily, Yugi swallowed his mouthful of food, just managing not to choke on it. He nodded.

"That would be great, Yami." And it would. Not just because Yugi really did want to see the mecha being constructed, but because it meant he would get to spend more time with Yami. "I'd really like that."

The rest of the meal passed all too quickly, in Yugi's estimation. He found that he liked talking to Yami, who seemed to really listen when Yugi told him about working in the shop and the new Duel Monsters tournament that was about to begin. Yugi had been ambivalent about entering the tournament. While he loved to play the game, he hated the publicity and hassle that went along with major competitions. But when Yami mentioned that he would like to see Yugi duel, Yugi instantly made up his mind to transmit his registration form first thing in the morning.

Since he had invited Yami to eat with him, Yugi insisted on paying for the meal. They passed a street vendor on their way back to the game shop, and Yami bought them all ice cream for dessert. Giving in to Yugi's coaxing, even Rafael had a small vanilla cone. The sight of the imposing bodyguard doing something as mundane as eating ice cream made Yugi laugh, and his laughter proved contagious. Soon, he and Yami were leaning on one another as they chortled, and Rafael was watching them with a long-suffering look that held more amusement than censure. Even after the laughter died away, Yami remained close to Yugi, one arm slung casually across Yugi's shoulders as they walked.

As they neared the game shop, Yugi began to wonder if Yami would kiss him goodnight. Or if _he_ should kiss _Yami_ goodnight. Or if it were actually possible for his heart to hammer its way out through his ribs, which was what it felt as if that organ was trying to do.

They reached the front door, and he moved up onto the set of low steps that led inside. "Would you... like to come in?"

"I wish I could," Yami said. He sounded sincere, which eased the mild rejection. "But I have some things at work that I have to take care of tonight."

"Oh. Okay. Maybe next time?" Yugi was gratified when Yami nodded his agreement, rather than denying there might be a 'next time.' He took a deep breath, and added, "I had a good time, Yami."

"So did I," Yami said, with a soft smile. "Thank you, Yugi."

Yugi blinked at him in confusion. "Thanks? For what?"

"For..." Yami gave a helpless shrug. He canted his gaze to one side, avoiding Yugi's eyes. "For... being _you_, I guess. Today was not a good day. I really needed a friend, and you..." His voice trailed off into a sigh, and another shrug.

Yugi's eyes were wide. "I want to be your friend, Yami. Maybe..." _Maybe more than a friend, someday_. He swallowed the words he couldn't quite find the courage to voice, and said, instead, "I'd like to see you, again."

"I'd like that, too," Yami agreed, softly.

They had drifted closer as they spoke. Yugi was standing on the doorstep, so he was almost the same height as Yami. Rafael had withdrawn to the corner to give them some measure of privacy. It was now or never...

Before he could talk himself out of it, Yugi leaned up on his toes and brushed his lips against Yami's in a soft kiss. Then, before the flush he could feel burning up his face and neck could burst into actual flame, he spun through the door and closed it firmly behind him.

Euphoria carried him all the way upstairs before his shaking knees gave out on him and, grinning like a lovestruck fool, Yugi collapsed in a graceless heap onto the sofa.

----------------------

Yami touched his fingers to his lips. They were still tingling from Yugi's unexpected kiss... and they were curved upward in a small, faint smile. Yami shook his head. Well, turnabout _was_ fair play.

Still smiling, he gathered Rafael with a look and crossed the street to where he had left the car, a low-slung silver coupe. The only parking spot he had been able to find was marked 'one hour only,' but no cop in this colony was going to ticket or tow a vehicle with Kaiba Corp plates, no matter where it was parked or for how long. Yami got behind the wheel, and glanced over at Rafael as the bodyguard slid into the passenger seat beside him.

"I hope you're game for a long night," Yami said, starting the engine and putting the car in gear. "We're going back to the factory."

Rafael simply nodded.

----------------------

_SSDF Orbital Station 002  
__Mars orbit_

When Bacardi had mentioned crawling around on the inside of his mech, Seto hadn't taken him literally. His mistake.

Cursing under his breath as, for what seemed like the thousandth time, he bumped his head clambering into and out of spaces meant for much shorter people, Seto found himself wondering what sort of sadist had designed these access hatches. Or maybe there was some obscure Kaiba Corp directive about only hiring technicians under five and a half feet tall to work on the Duel Mecha. Seto paused, half-in/half-out of an open port in his Dragon's lower right leg. Come to think of it, Chief Bacardi couldn't be more than five foot five, and some of the other techs were even shorter. _Hm_. There might be something to his theory, after all.

Adding to Seto's strange mood was the fact that every time he emerged from some cramped crawlspace or accessway, he was greeted by the sight of more of the Red-Eyes Black Dragon spread out on the hangar floor.

The area around the Red-Eyes' gantry was beginning to resemble the aftermath of a weirdly neat explosion. The creeping sprawl had infiltrated other areas of the bay, encroaching on the painted pathways normally reserved for loader and human traffic. Only the areas around the active-duty mecha were still clear of Red-Eyes parts and the clusters of techs fussing over them.

Well, the active mecha... and the Blue-Eyes White Dragon. Seto had been hard-pressed to hide his smile when Bacardi had bared his teeth and literally _growled_ at a hapless Red-Eyes tech who had tried to unload a pallet of servo-motors at the base of the Blue-Eyes' gantry. Since that incident, the Red-Eyes team was giving the Blue-Eyes a wide, respectful berth.

Seto finished recording the results of the latest circuit test he had completed, this time on the critical TEM unit that not only allowed pilot and AI to achieve gestalt, but was also necessary for pilot/Anchor interface. He backed out of the access hatch and, with a sigh of relief, straightened to his full height. Repeatedly cramming his six feet plus height into spaces designed for the efficiency of the machine rather than the comfort of the mechanic was beginning to take its toll on the muscles in his back, neck, and shoulders. He rolled his neck, trying without much success to work some of the kinks out.

"Ties ya in knots, don't it?" mused an amiable voice from behind him. Seto turned to find Bacardi regarding him with amused understanding in his faded hazel eyes. "Guess you can call it day, Captain. Hit the showers, work some of those knots out."

Seto glanced down at the time display in the bottom corner of his diagnostic pad. Had it really been two hours, already? His protesting muscles assured him that it had, but a part of him was surprised by how quickly the time had passed. When he looked back up, Bacardi was smiling benignly at him. It was disconcerting how easily the man seemed to read him, Seto thought, deliberately making his features an expressionless mask -- too little, too late where the shrewd crew chief was concerned, he was sure.

"We'll make a tech outta you, yet, Captain," the chief said with cheerfully, clapping him on the arm as he moved past Seto to clamber aboard the gantry lift, once more. "See you tomorrow."

With a tired sigh, Seto cautiously picked his way through the ever-expanding maze of Red-Eyes parts, and headed for his quarters.

---------------------

After a quick shower and change of clothing, Seto grabbed his personal computer (the one he had built to his own exacting standards), and perched on the sofa. A few clicks on the keypad and he had ensured Bacardi an excellent performance review for this quarter. Then he settled down to do some real work.

Moving from the less secure personnel server into Research and Development took but a moment's work, but accessing the files on the Kaiba Corp Island Research Station took much longer than it should have. Seto sat for a second, staring at the uncooperative computer screen, then frowned and stabbed at the command pad. The seeker program executed again, with the same results.

**Access denied**

Seto growled in frustration at the blinking cursor. It was almost embarrassing that he, of all people, was being kept out of the Kaiba Corp mainframe. Unfortunately, the passwords that he had hacked when his father was still running the company no longer worked. He realized that he had been right all along. If this was going to work, he would need to physically access one of the computers in the Kaiba Corp network.

Frustrated, Seto shut down his seeker and absently browsed the system while he considered his very limited options. Getting down to the surface of Mars would be simple enough -- he had accrued quite a bit of unused leave, to the point where he was certain Korone was about to get on his case about it. But it might arouse suspicion if he showed up unannounced at one of the KC facilities and demanded access to their computer network.

Something on one of the screens caught his eye. Paging back to the screen in question, Seto frowned at it until it dawned on him exactly what he was looking at. Someone had turned one of his ferret programs loose in the Kaiba Corp system. He watched it run for a moment, then tapped in a command to give himself access to the program. It was an older version, he saw immediately, a few years out of date compared to the version he was using now.

Seto's frown deepened. Only one other person had a copy of this particular program. What was Yami doing spying on his own company? For that matter, why was he on Mars in the first place, instead of back home on Earth, basking in Kazuki Kaiba's reflected glory?

Intrigued now, Seto took a closer look at the data the ferret was rifling through. It seemed to be searching for any references to the Duel Mecha, particularly the Dark Magician -- from the inception of the enhanced-mecha program right up to the catastrophe of Jupiter Station.

His already straight posture stiffened. What the hell was Yami up to? Could it be that there was some truth to those ridiculous rumors, after all? Seto's eyes narrowed. Yami hadn't been the same since his Anchor's death; he had lost his drive, his competitive edge. It had infuriated Seto, then, and it made his fists itch, now. Yami was wallowing in his cowardice, refusing to face his demons head-on and at least attempt to conquer them. Could he really have run so far from himself that he had gone over to the other side?

A few more commands and Seto had reprogrammed the ferret to not only report back to its user, but to Seto's computer as well. Soon, he would know whatever Yami found so fascinating in the Kaiba Corp files.

Seto's lips pressed into a thin, white line. He had to find out the truth. And, if Yami really had become a traitor, then Seto would be the one to do something about it.

--------------------------

_Kaiba Corp Enhanced-Mecha Production  
__Amazonis Planitia_  
_Kaiba Corporation Colony, Mars_

When Yami returned to his borrowed office in the executive tower, he once again swept the room with his bug detector. He found a new camera, barely the diameter of a strand of human hair, affixed to the side of his workstation monitor, and quickly disabled it. Standing before the desk, he stared at the tiny device laying on his palm. He had been in so much pain at the time that he hadn't thought to lock the office before departing earlier, so almost anyone could have planted the camera in his absence. No closer to an answer than before, he closed his hand over the camera and walked to the door.

Rafael was where Yami had left him, waiting patiently in the outer office. He looked up, instantly alert, when Yami poked his head around the door and waved him over. Yami held up the microfilament camera. Rafael nodded. Satisfied that Rafael would take care of the spy device, Yami handed it to him and went back into his office, closing the door behind him.

He settled at his desk and took a small device, about the size of deck of playing cards, from his pocket. Reaching around to the back of the workstation, he attached a thin cable from the portable reader to the ferret. Normally, the ferret could be remotely triggered to send its report over a wireless connection, but that was easily detected -- and intercepted. Using the wired connection would allow him to receive the ferret's report with no one else the wiser, or so he hoped. He set the small reader on the desk and pressed the key that would trigger the ferret to report.

Time to see what Seto's pet program had found for him.


	15. Chapter 14

**Author's Note:** I don't usually do author's notes, because I prefer to let the story stand on its own. However, I wanted to address some concerns cropping up in reviews. This story was not and is not abandoned. I have had a very rough year in real life. My health is poor and that, combined with the stress of some things that have been happening in RL, made writing impossible.

Please understand: there will often be gaps in updating, but that does not mean I have lost interest in this fic. I have two chronic illnesses and a plethora of "hanger-on" syndromes to go with them. There are many times when I am in too much pain to simply _type_, much less be creative. Threatening to "kill me" (even in jest) if I don't update is... non-productive, at best. That said, I appreciate all your comments and reviews, and am happy so many of you are still reading, still interested in the story. I plan to have new chapters soon.

All previous chapters have been revised to correct errors. I have also added some descriptions and tweaked the prose. You may want to skim back over the beginning of the story to see the new additions. (Or not.) Thank you for reading.

Chapter Fourteen

_Kame Game Shop  
__Domino City  
Arcadia Planitia  
__Kaiba Corporation Colony, Mars_

Yugi was still sprawled bonelessly on the sofa when his grandfather wandered into the living room. Solomon eyed him for a moment, taking in the goofy, satisfied grin on Yugi's face, then shook his head indulgently. "I take it you had a good time with your friend?"

"Yep!" Still smiling, Yugi raised sparkling blue eyes to meet Solomon's gaze. "It was great."

"I'm glad." Solomon shifted Yugi's legs over so he could join him on the sofa. "I have some good news."

"Really?" With some difficulty, Yugi forced his mind from its giddy contemplations of the kiss he had shared with Yami, and tried to focus on the conversation. "What is it?"

"I received a phone call from my old friend Arthur Hawkins," Solomon said. "He's been working with an expedition in the Valley of the Kings in Egypt, and they've made an amazing discovery -- an unplundered tomb! From what he's told me, it could be the greatest find in the Valley since Tutankamun's tomb was uncovered in 1922."

"Wow, that's incredible!" Yugi agreed, sitting up straighter and clasping his hands in his lap. "A new tomb? Does it belong to a pharaoh?"

"Arthur didn't want to go into details over the phone, but he's very excited about it." Solomon's eyes twinkled. "He hinted that certain things about this find are right up my alley, and asked me to come to Egypt for a consultation. I believe it may have something to do with Arthur's theories about the true origin of Duel Monsters."

Yugi's eyes widened. No wonder Dr. Hawkins wanted Solomon's help; the two of them had been together on the expedition that had first uncovered tomb carvings of the creatures that would come to be called 'Duel Monsters.' "That's really great, Grandpa. When are you leaving?"

"We're leaving first thing in the morning. So you'd better go pack."

"W-we?" Yugi stammered. Conflicting emotions roiled his stomach. On the one hand, he would be a fool to turn down a trip to Egypt, and he truly did want to help his grandfather. On the other hand, how was he supposed to get closer to Yami if they weren't even on the same planet? "You want me to go with you?"

"That's right, m'boy," Solomon said cheerfully, slapping a hand on Yugi's knee and giving it a pat before rising to his feet. "Your mother insisted that if I, and I quote, 'intend to go gallivanting around in crumbling old tombs,' I have to take you along to keep me out of trouble." He winked at Yugi.

Yugi grinned back. Sometimes his mom could be over-protective of them both, but Yugi found it hard to take offense at such obvious affection, and he knew his grandpa felt the same way. "Well, sure. That's what favorite grandsons are _for_."

"You're my _only_ grandson, Yugi," Solomon reminded him, eyes twinkling again.

"Yep, that's why I'm your favorite."

Solomon laughed. "All right, favorite grandson. Go pack -- and set your alarm for four. Our shuttle departs at seven."

"I will. G'night, Grandpa."

"Goodnight, Yugi," Solomon called after him as Yugi headed down the hall. "Sleep tight, don't let the bedbugs bite."

"That's gross, Grandpa!" Yugi yelled back up the hall, completing their usual bedtime ritual. They had been doing the same thing for as long as Yugi could remember.

While Yugi wasn't happy about leaving his budding (he hoped) relationship with Yami behind for awhile, he thought it would be all right. There was a connection there -- he was almost certain he wasn't the only one who felt it between them -- and that would surely draw them back together.

In the meantime, he looked forward to seeing Egypt with his grandpa. Solomon had often entertained Yugi with grandiose tales of his adventures in the land of the pharaohs. It would be exciting to share one of those adventures, firsthand.

Yugi smiled softly to himself as he pulled a suitcase from under the bed. Yes, everything would be just fine.

He was sure of it.

---------------------

_Kaiba Corp Enhanced-Mecha Production Facility  
Amazonis Planitia_  
_Kaiba Corporation Colony, Mars_

Things went from 'fine' to 'utter chaos' in the space of a single heartbeat.

Yami had been concentrating on triggering the ferret's report when the room suddenly went icy cold and shadows exploded from every corner to wrap themselves around him like a black shroud. He froze in shock, feeling the silken glide of the darkness along his skin, heart trip-hammering in his chest. Panic crashed through him, adrenaline lighting up his nerves. The shadows whispered in his ears, warning him of danger, urging him to run.

Yami bolted.

He paused in the doorway, just long enough to glance back and see the black and purple vortex slowly expanding to fill the space he had vacated. Languid, shadowy tendrils trailed after him. His breath caught in his throat as they reached for him, and he made a strangled sound that couldn't decide whether to be a laugh or a scream.

Without warning, a large hand closed around Yami's upper arm. His heart gave another lurch, and he jerked around to find Rafael standing beside him. Rafael's mouth gaped as he stared through the open doorway into Yami's borrowed office.

"You... can see it?" Yami choked.

Rafael tore his gaze from the roiling shadows. He spared Yami a disbelieving glance before dragging him from the doorway. The bodyguard's stoic mask was firmly back in place, but his fingers dug into Yami's bicep hard enough to hurt.

"It looks like a 'gate breach," Rafael said, his voice a low rasp. "But that's imposs--"

As they watched, the vortex consumed the contents of the office. The desk and its computer station disappeared in a bright shower of sparks. Lazy tendrils of darkness coiled across the threshold, questing blindly. They lashed at the air, as if tasting it for Yami's scent. A second later, they seemed to have caught it. A cluster of tendrils darted toward him, their speed shocking after their earlier lassitude.

"Sir!" Rafael yanked Yami clear and kept going, manhandling him past the secretary's desk. The tendrils followed, knocking the desk aside as if it were made of _papier mâché_. "We have to get out of here."

They both heard the pounding of heavy footsteps racing up the corridor toward them. Rafael's eyes narrowed. "Security?"

"Doesn't matter." With the current situation at Kaiba Corp, they couldn't afford to trust anyone, not even security. Yami wrenched free of the hands gripping him and spun away, already sprinting for the opposite end of the corridor. "_Run_."

Rafael obeyed -- and not a second too soon, as shouts rang out behind them.

They pelted around the bend in the corridor, almost colliding with one another as Yami bounced a shoulder off the wall trying to avoid a wild gunshot that ricocheted off a metal sculpture and parted his hair. Yami heaved the sculpture from its pedestal, sending it crashing into the path of the two men chasing them. One went down with a yelp. The other leaped over his fallen comrade, pinned beneath the heavy statue, and fired off another volley.

"_Fuck!_" Rafael grabbed Yami, again. He practically flung Yami ahead of himself as he placed his own body between Yami and the gunfire. Rafael had his own gun out and snapped off a quick shot behind them to discourage closer pursuit.

Fleeing through the KCM tower with no real plan other than "get away," Yami spared a fleeting thought for the good old days, when he had reinforced mech armor between him and whatever the bad guys were shooting at him. If there had been any doubts in his mind that he was better suited to being a pilot rather than a spy, this laid them to rest. Not only had someone spotted his supposedly clandestine forays into the computer system, but he had not even gotten to see the results of his hacking attempt. Seto would laugh himself sick if he ever found out about this.

Rafael's hand closed over his elbow and yanked him into a side corridor, just as a soft chime announced the arrival on their floor of the elevator. Reinforcements? Yami hastily checked the door beside him, grinning when he found it unlocked. He threw the door open, reached back for a handful of Rafael's suit jacket, and dragged the other man through the door after him.

They found themselves on the landing in an emergency stairwell. The concrete and steel space was filled with echoes and cold shadows, lit by the sharp white glow of wire-covered panels set into the walls. It was also blessedly empty of anyone wanting to kill them. Yami felt a hand close over his bicep, then Rafael was leaning close enough to whisper hoarsely in his ear.

"If they've followed standard procedure, the helicopter should still be on the roof." Rafael glanced thoughtfully up the ascending stairs, as if he were calculating the time it would take them to climb. "I'm a fully-qualified pilot."

"So am I." Yami followed his gaze. They were fairly high up in the tower, but the roof access was still several flights above them. "You're sure it'll be there?"

"Reasonably."

"Wonderful."

A shout from outside their hiding place cut short the debate. They had managed to clear almost an entire flight before running footsteps echoed up to them from the stairs below. Rafael gave Yami a hard shove in the small of his back, urging him to climb faster.

A voice shouted up at them. "Kaiba-sama! Stop running, please. No one here wants to harm you."

Rafael pivoted silently, took aim over the hand-rail, and fired twice. The shots exploded in their ears, painfully loud in the confined space. When the ringing echoes died, a harsh male voice cursing a blue-streak took their place.

"Ah, perhaps I misspoke," the first voice resumed. Yami recognized it, now: Tanaka-san, Nesbitt's deceptively unassuming assistant. "It seems that some of us _do_, indeed, wish to harm you. _Now_, at least. However, that would not please our employer, who wishes to... 'acquire you,' shall we say?... in one piece."

If that was supposed to make Yami feel more like cooperating, Tanaka was wasting his breath. Yami decided to waste a little of his own. Not pausing in his flight up the stairs, he shouted over his shoulder, "Fuck off!"

"Be reasonable, Kaiba-sama," Tanaka called. The stairs vibrated beneath Yami's feet as the men below resumed their climb, though far more cautiously than before. "I do not wish to see you hurt unnecessarily. If you would only come quietly--"

"I've never done anything 'quietly' in my life," Yami growled. And he had no intention of starting, now. He glanced back at Rafael. "I don't suppose you have another gun?"

Wordlessly, the bodyguard pulled a second weapon from inside his jacket and handed it over. Yami smiled grimly as he accepted the gun. It was a Sphinx5000T pistol, the tactical model with the shorter barrel favored by police and security services. Reliable, accurate, and nearly indestructible. Yami nodded his approval and quickened his pace.

Tanaka's voice chased him up the stairs. "Cooperate, and I promise to restrain my... overly-zealous colleague."

"Fuck you, Tanaka," snarled the American-accented voice from before. Yami found himself thoroughly agreeing with the sentiment.

"Please, Howard-san," Tanaka said quellingly. Raising his voice, he added, "Kaiba-sama, think of your family. Your esteemed father..."

"Are you threatening my father?" Yami demanded, stopping so quickly that Rafael plowed into his back. As if in response to Yami's agitation, the shadows swirled wildly along the edges of the stairwell. Though the light panels glowed as brightly as ever, the stairwell seemed to grow darker.

"Merely expressing a concern," Tanaka said. "No doubt your father would be devastated if something were to happen to you. And while my employer is a patient man, even he has his limits. Especially when it comes to achieving his goal."

"And what goal would that be?" Peering around his bodyguard's bulkier torso, Yami risked a look back at their pursuers. His fingers curled tightly around the Sphinx's hand grip.

"Merely to claim what is rightfully his," Tanaka said placidly. A tiny smile played about his thin lips for a moment, then was gone. "All who help him will be duly rewarded. Including you, Kaiba-sama."

_Yeah, right._ "You're nuts, Tanaka!"

Tanaka didn't look insane. In fact, he looked perfectly reasonable, like a businessman after a successful day at the office. He was still nattily attired in his business suit and tie. Light glinted off his green gemstone tie-tack and picked out blue highlights on his dark, slicked back hair, not a strand of which was out of place. His manicured hands were held out in front of him in a conciliatory gesture.

Unlike his partner, Mr. Howard was sloppily dressed in ripped jeans and a t-shirt with the faded image of some Duel Monster emblazoned across the front. Shaggy blond hair poked messily from beneath the red, white, and blue bandana tied around his head. He held a compact, oddly-shaped gun that looked like a laser emitter stuffed into a conch shell. It resembled nothing so much as a cheap B-movie prop.

Howard pointed his movie prop at Yami. With a shark-like grin that bared a mouthful of white teeth, he pulled the trigger. A burst of acid-green energy sizzled through the air directly toward Yami's heart.

_That was no prop! _Yami threw himself as flat as the stairs would permit. A half-second later, Rafael covered Yami with his own body.

The green energy impacted the wall, leaving behind a sizzling patch of peeling paint. The air filled with the acrid stench of smoke and burnt chemicals. Yami coughed as the smoke swirled around him. His throat burned and his eyes watered, impairing his vision. He could only hope the smoke was doing the same to the bad guys. Around them, the stairwell seemed to grow darker, again. The two men below shouted in alarm as the light panels on the wall suddenly arced with streamers of black and purple energy, and crackling sparks showered down on them.

Beneath Yami's hands, deeper shadows gathered. Cold and slippery as oiled silk, they caressed his palms, twined through his fingers, coiled around his wrists. He shuddered and jerked his hands away, but the shadows followed the movement, reaching for his hands, lapping at his knees where they rested against the stairs.

Forgetting Tanaka, forgetting everything but the desperate need to get away from the shadows, Yami bucked upright, throwing off his startled bodyguard. He managed to get his feet under him, but Rafael's firm hands on his shoulders forced him back down, just as Howard's gun spat another green energy bolt at them. It screamed through the air where Yami's head had been only seconds before, and blasted one of the remaining light panels. The light exploded in a brilliant cascade of sparks and glass.

Rafael's hand on his back pressed Yami almost painfully into the metal treads of the stairs as the glass shrapnel rained down around them. The shadows flowed around Yami, chilling him to the bone as they covered him. The crazy notion that they, too, were trying to protect him darted through his head -- and was as swiftly rejected.

Rafael twisted around, rising up on his knees to snap off a couple of shots from his Glock. Anxious to get away from the darkness that was still reaching for him, Yami scrambled up after him. The shadows followed. Yami stumbled back, boot heels crunching on the shattered glass, until his back struck the wall with enough force to knock the breath from his lungs. His gaze was locked on the pool of shadows gathering at his feet. In his hand, the Sphinx dangled, forgotten.

"Mr. Kaiba!" Rafael grabbed Yami, shook him, and practically threw him toward the distant landing. "_Go!_"

Snapped back to the present danger, Yami ran. Icy realization shivered along his nerves: he really _was_ losing his grip on reality. But he couldn't afford to break down, now. His hallucinations were going to get him killed unless he could get a grip on himself. He would have to worry about his sanity -- or lack of it -- later.

With Rafael right behind him, he raced toward the roof of the tower. Tanaka and Howard pounded up the stairs after them. Tanaka seemed to have given up the idea of persuading Yami to surrender. Except for his labored breathing as he pounded up the stairs, he was silent.

Howard cursed them all the way to the top.

---------------------

Panting, Yami stumbled across the final landing and lunged through the heavy steel door at the top. Crouching low, he swept his gaze over the area.

The stairwell, and the elevator beside it, were located in a small structure situated in one corner of the roof. Regularly spaced security lights were positioned along the sides of the rooftop, along with pairs of large floodlights set at each of the four corners. Only the smaller lights were lit, casting the rooftop in an otherworldly, blue-white glow. The landing lights around the helipad were off.

Clustered along the far edge of the roof, boxy protrusions that looked as if they housed air exchangers for the environmental systems or boosters for the communications network created a tangled mosaic of black silhouettes. They could provide minimal cover, for a time. Even as the thought occurred to him, however, he spotted a flicker of movement between two of the larger housings. Someone else had already beaten him to the idea.

The deeper shadows at the foot of the nearest floodlight mounting offered the only other cover for yards in either direction. With at least one enemy already on the roof and more on the way, they couldn't stay in the open. When the panel over the elevator doors lit up, indicating someone was on the way up, Yami made up his mind in a hurry. Despite his newfound distrust of shadows, he knew they had no choice. He ran for the floodlight, Rafael a few steps behind him.

Tucked up against the cold metal base of the floodlight, Yami risked another peek at their surroundings. Their situation didn't look any more promising from his new angle.

The tower was over a hundred stories tall. They weren't going to get back to ground level without help -- not alive, at any rate. Yami stared at the empty space on the dark helipad where the KC helicopter should have been, and cursed his luck. Even in the uncertain light, there could be no mistake -- the copter was gone.

Beside him, Rafael swore harshly under his breath.

Yami opened his mouth to respond, then noticed something half-hidden by a tarp on the opposite side of the roof. The eerie light reflected off a stretch of gleaming white finish exposed by the flapping tarp. A small, two-man mech. A racer? Someone's high-tech toy, a more expensive version of the stereotypical little red sports car. Maybe one of KC Mars' executive officers was going through a mid-life crisis.

"Do we have a Plan B?" Rafael ground out.

Yami started to grin. After all, one man's crisis is another man's escape route. "Maybe we do..."

Rafael followed his gaze toward the racing mech. "You're kidding."

"I'm a fully-qualified pilot." Yami's face was perfectly deadpan.

Rafael grunted. "So am I."

A flicker of movement in the stairwell door caught his eye. Tanaka and Howard had made it onto the roof. "We've got more company."

"I see them." Yami tracked the two men as they stepped clear of the doorway. His fingers tightened around his gun. "This party's getting a little crowded. I think we should leave."

"I'll make our apologies to our host." Rafael leaned out just far enough to sight around the lighting mount, and fired. He immediately ducked and set to reloading.

Tanaka screamed as he fell, a bright red stain blossoming on the shoulder of his jacket. Howard threw himself to the ground, using Tanaka as a shield.

"Go!"

Bent nearly double, Yami ran along the edge of the roof, keeping low as Rafael provided cover fire. He had almost made it to the nearest of the booster housings between him and the racer when something burned like fire across his hip. He stumbled, fell heavily -- on the same hip. Agony exploded through him, curling him instinctively around the pain.

"Mr. Kaiba!"

"...Kaiba-sama?"

After an eternity of red-laced misery, Yami became aware of the competing voices calling his name. Panting, he forced himself to uncurl far enough to access the damage. His jeans over his left hip were soaked with blood. His hip was on fire, abused nerves screaming at him. He had been shot.

Well, _fuck_.

"Mr. Kaiba, are you all right?" That was Rafael, his voice harsh with worry.

"Just dandy. Don't worry. You're not out of a job, yet." Yami grimaced and pressed his hand over the wound to staunch the flow of blood. He couldn't tell how serious the wound was, but it hurt like hell. His vision was starting to gray around the edges.

"Forgive me, Kaiba-sama," Tanaka called. Oddly-enough, he sounded genuinely distressed. "It was not my intention to hurt you."

Yami blinked color back into the world, and snarled, "So you _shot_ me?"

"You left me no choice--"

"Take one more step toward him and I _will_ kill you, Tanaka." Rafael leveled his gun at Tanaka. His grim expression left no doubt that he meant every word.

It was a stand-off. Yami lay where he had fallen, bleeding onto the concrete. Tanaka was back on his feet. His jacket was stained with blood, but the gun he held on Yami didn't waver. Rafael had abandoned cover to come after Yami, but had only gotten a few feet from the floodlight before Tanaka had stopped him. His gun was aimed at Tanaka's heart. At some point in the confusion, Howard had disappeared. He could be anywhere.

"Please, Kaiba-sama," Tanaka said, ignoring Rafael for the moment. "I only want what's best for you."

In Yami's experience, nothing good had ever followed that statement. "Somehow, Tanaka, I don't think _this_ is what's best for me."

"No, of course not. If you will only agree to meet with my employer, we can dispense with this nonsense, and--"

"Just who is this mysterious 'employer' of yours, anyway?" Yami ground out, losing his patience along with his blood.

"Someone who can help you reach your full potential--"

Even though the man was holding a gun on him, Yami found himself tuning Tanaka out. Instead, his attention was drawn to the stealthy movement of dark tendrils slithering across the concrete toward him. No one else seemed to have noticed, but Yami couldn't tear his gaze away from it.

The shadows were moving.

Silent as a scream in space, they gathered around him. Encircled him. He could feel their chill on his skin, taste it like ozone in the air. The shadows lapped at his blood where it pooled beneath him. Seeming to draw strength from it, the shadows darkened and grew colder still.

Yami shivered.

"Come with me." Tanaka's voice was soft, cajoling. "I swear on my honor, no one will harm you. My employer is very anxious to see you, again."

Yami barely heard him. The shadows were brushing up against him, now. Their icy touch easily penetrated the denim of his jeans. Forcing himself to move despite the pain, he pushed himself hastily to his feet. He swayed where he stood, most of his weight balanced on his right leg, his jaw clenched against the pain. The shadows slithered across his boots and wrapped themselves around his ankles, questing higher along his left leg.

_Following the blood,_ Yami thought, and felt his stomach lurch. He moaned a denial. "_No_..."

"Kaiba-sama?" Tanaka had finally realized he didn't have Yami's full attention. "Kaiba-sama, listen to me. My first loyalty is to your family. You are in pain. Let me help you."

"Don't listen to him, sir!" Rafael shouted, but Tanaka overrode him.

"Have you never felt as if there were ...something awaiting you?" Tanaka asked. Despite the gun Rafael had aimed at him, Tanaka was inching closer to where Yami stood, swaying unsteadily as the shadows gorged themselves on his life's blood. "Can't you feel it, Kaiba-sama? A greater destiny is calling you!"

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about." Yami wanted to sound angry. He only managed to sound weary.

Tanaka persisted, his voice almost hypnotic. "Don't you feel that something is missing from your life? Something to fill the emptiness inside that is slowly tearing you apart?"

Yami froze as the words penetrated the fog of horror muffling his thoughts. So what if he did? Didn't everyone have those kind of thoughts, once in awhile? Maybe it was just another symptom of his impending insanity.

"Kaiba-sama." Tanaka closed in for the kill. "Wouldn't you like to find the other half of your soul?"


	16. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

_The other half of his soul? _

Yami felt a strange pang of longing shoot through him at the thought. He forced it away. He had no time to ponder the words or the feelings they awoke in him. He had to get away -- from these men, and from the shadows.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Tanaka," Yami said, suppressing a shiver.

Tanaka only smiled. "I know you feel it, Kaiba-sama. I can see it in your eyes." He stretched out his empty hand. "Come with me, now. Let me help you reach your full potential."

The man was seriously beginning to give Yami the creeps. Besides, he had enough people in his life trying to map out his future for him. He didn't need to add Tanaka to the list. On the defensive, and angry because of it, he sneered, "You're claiming you can find my soul-mate? What are you, a matchmaker?"

"I am not speaking of something as insipid as mere _romance_." Tanaka stressed the word with disdain. "It is not your 'soul-mate' you need, but your literal other half, a part of you that was taken away long ago. My employer can help you get it back. And, with it, you can attain your true destiny."

"...Have you considered seeking professional help?"

"Mock me all you like, Kaiba-sama," Tanaka said. "It won't change the truth of what I'm telling you."

Yami was distracted from retorting by the icy caress of the shadows still clinging to his body. He risked a quick glance down. The shadows were coiled about both of his legs. Where they reached his left hip, the shadows had flattened themselves over the injury. He wondered if they were still consuming his blood. They seemed to pulse in time with his heartbeat.

He looked up to find that Tanaka had followed his gaze and was now staring at the tendrils of darkness that clung to him. In an almost reverent voice, Tanaka whispered, "I _knew_ you were the one."

"What...?"

"The others thought that it must be Seto, simply because he is Gozaburo's son. But I knew you were the one. Your affinity for gestalt was proof enough."

"_Gestalt?_ What does that--? What are you _talking_ about?" Yami demanded, though he sounded plaintive to his own ears. His head was spinning. Nothing Tanaka said was making sense. And then it hit him.

Tanaka could see the shadows coiled about Yami. They couldn't be hallucinations. Yami blanched as he realized exactly what that must mean.

_The shadows were real._

Distracted as he was by this new revelation, Yami never sensed the person moving up behind him until it was too late. A scuff of shoe sole against concrete was the only warning he received before he was tackled roughly from behind. He went down hard, knees and hands taking most of the impact, agony flaring through his hip at the rough jolt. The gun spun out of his grip and slid several feet across the roof.

Yami cried out as fire blazed across his left hip. He fought the instinctive paralysis the pain brought, and pistoned his elbow into the man behind him. The clutching arms loosened their grip as the man's breath exploded in a furious, pained curse.

Taking advantage of his opponent's momentary distraction, Yami shoved hard with his shoulder, then flung himself forward and away.

He landed on his left side, almost passing out at the white-hot pain that seared across his hip and up his spine. He gasped, but forced himself to keep rolling. On his back on the unforgiving concrete, he sucked air into his lungs and tried desperately to block out the fresh pain.

Moving on sheer determination, Yami curled and rolled to his knees. His breath hissed out from between his clenched teeth as the movement pulled at his hip and sent hot sparks scattering along his nerves. He had to brace himself, one hand on the concrete, and wait for the pain to subside. Cold sweat trickled along his jaw, down the back of his neck, plastered his shirt to his clammy skin. His hip throbbed in time with his racing heartbeat. He did his best to ignore it. He had to concentrate. There would be time for the pain, later.

Twisting, Yami saw that his attacker was doubled-over, clutching at himself. Nearly sobbing as his hands cupped his abused genitals, Howard was spitting out obscenities in a bastard mix of English and Japanese. Apparently, Yami's aim had been lower than he had realized.

_Good_, Yami thought, with grim satisfaction. _Serves the bastard right._

He swept his gaze over the concrete. Despite the clinging shadows, he could just make out the seashell weapon. It lay a few feet away, where Howard had dropped it when Yami elbowed him in the family jewels.

The sound of a fierce scuffle pulled his attention from the still-cursing goon in front of him. Yami risked a quick look behind him and saw that Rafael was in trouble. The lurker had come out into the open, and he was armed. He and Tanaka had Rafael pinned between them, keeping the determined bodyguard from reaching Yami.

Howard's energy weapon was closer than his own Sphinx. Yami snatched up the strange gun, found what looked like the trigger. A choked off cry of pain jerked his head back around. The new goon had tangled with Rafael and gotten in a lucky blow. A nasty-looking bruise was already forming on Rafael's jaw where the goon had pistol-whipped him. The goon was bringing his gun around. This time, Yami was sure he meant to fire.

Reflex kicked in. He brought the weapon up, automatically stilling his breath as he took aim. Fired.

The energy bolt struck the goon mid-chest. It pulsed, a brief flash of acid-green that covered the man's body, then vanished. He collapsed, flopping to the concrete like a suddenly stringless marionette.

Yami had no time to wonder if he had killed the man, as he was again hit from behind. Apparently, Howard had recovered enough to rejoin the fray. He struck at Yami's left kidney with his clenched fist. Yami twisted aside, barely deflecting the blow. Howard had managed to grab onto the hand holding the seashell weapon, and used it to reel him back in. They wrestled for the weapon, Yami clawing with his free hand at Howard's face, Howard cursing and striking at Yami with his fist.

"Don't hurt him, you fool!" Tanaka yelled.

Howard faltered. Yami shoved him hard, managing to twist free with the seashell gun still clutched in one hand. Howard cursed and vented his displeasure at Tanaka.

"Shut up, you asshole!" Howard shook his fist at Tanaka. "I had him, until you distracted me. You want him to get away?"

"We need him alive and in one piece," Tanaka retorted. "If you kill him, all our plans are for nothing!"

"Both of you, shut up!" Yami thundered. He ruthlessly shunted the pain aside and straightened to his full height. With his feet braced apart and his shoulders squared, he presented an imposing enough sight that they obeyed out of sheer surprise. Yami leveled the seashell weapon at Howard, who gaped at him.

"You! Get over there where I can keep an eye on you," Yami commanded, gesturing with the barrel of the gun to herd Howard over beside Tanaka. When he had them both covered, he turned his attention to Tanaka. "Start talking, Tanaka. Just what is this grand scheme of yours, anyway? And if I'm so damned important, why did you try to have me killed?"

"I wasn't aiming to kill, I assure you --"

"Not this!" Yami dismissed the wound on his hip with a grimace. "The flaw in my Dark Magician's armor. You knew about it, I'm sure."

"Ah. Yes, of course." Tanaka managed to look abashed. "That was a risky -- and, as it turned out, highly flawed -- plan." He took a deep breath and met Yami's gaze earnestly. "You were never meant to die at Jupiter Station, Kaiba-sama. The plan was for one of the Orichalcos Soldiers to immobilize your mech so that you could be captured. Alive."

"And my Anchor...?"

Tanaka made a dismissive gesture with his free hand. The other was now aiming his gun at Rafael. "Collateral damage."

Yami saw red.

The shadows responded instantly to his fury. They seemed darker and somehow more solid than before as they lanced away from Yami. One tendril lashed at Tanaka's wrist, snapping the gun from his hand. The sickening, green-stick sound his wrist made said they had snapped the bones, as well.

Other shadows whipped around Tanaka's body, binding his arms to his torso as they constricted. Tanaka screamed.

Shocked, Yami stepped back -- and the shadows retreated. Gasping for breath, Tanaka collapsed to his knees. Yami didn't have to look to know that the stunned expression on Howard's face was surely mirrored on Rafael's.

His own features a frozen, expressionless mask, Yami lowered the seashell weapon to aim squarely at Tanaka's chest. In that moment, Yami truly wanted to kill him. Tanaka had as good as admitted to collaborating with the enemy. He was a traitor to the human race, to every ideal Yami had worked and sacrificed for. That Anzu had died for.

The shadows swirled about him, echoing Yami's agitation. Seeing them, Yami forced his finger to ease up on the trigger. Tanaka would have to stand trial for his crimes. Then the whole world would know what he had done. It was the only way for justice to be served. Anzu deserved nothing less.

"Sir! Look out!"

Rafael's shout came a split-second too late.

Something hit Yami squarely in the back, knocking the air from his lungs and sending him tumbling forward. He tried to catch himself, but his injured leg failed him. He crashed into the concrete and rolled, desperate to get free. But his assailant rolled with him, battling for the upper hand. Each revolution sent fresh waves of agony shooting through Yami's injured hip and leg. He was panting by the time he managed to get his good leg up between them in an attempt to throw off his attacker.

He succeeded in shoving the man off him, but the thug clawed his hands into the straps buckled across Yami's chest and used them to force Yami into another roll. They slammed up against something hard and unforgiving -- he thought it might be one of the floods, or the concrete barrier around the edge of the roof.

In the next instant, he saw that it was the low barrier, barely a foot high and more decorative than anything useful. He jammed his foot up against it and tried to use it as leverage, but the thug was just too big and heavy to budge.

The man rolled them again -- and Yami suddenly found his head and shoulders dangling over a hundred story drop.

In the background, he was dimly aware of the sounds of shouting and struggle, but he was too busy with his own predicament to pay much attention. He still had the gun, but his arms were pinned, and he couldn't get any leverage with his legs. He could feel the shadows crawling over him, but he had no idea how to command their help, even if they were inclined to give it.

Yami squirmed desperately and managed to get one leg free. He kicked wildly, felt his boot connect with something soft and yielding, even as the thug yelped in pain.

And then he was free.

..._and falling_.

------------------------

Rafael stared in horror as Yami vanished over the side of the building. It was no comfort at all when the thug responsible went with him.

_"No!" _

The raw shout of denial was as useless a gesture as running to the edge of the roof and peering down, but Rafael did it anyway. He couldn't see anything; it was too dark and the ground was simply too far away. Not that it mattered.

Nothing could survive that fall.

Turning away from the edge, Rafael saw that Tanaka and his goons had vanished. His jaw tightened. Part of him was glad he didn't have to deal with them. Part of him wished he could have shot them.

Limping slightly, he started across the roof toward the racing mech. He paused once, to retrieve his Glock and the pistol Tanaka had left behind. Hauling out his 'sat-phone, Rafael felt his stomach twist at the thought of what he would have to report. He shoved his personal feelings aside and hit the speed-dial for his employer's priority number.

The boss was not going to be pleased.


	17. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

_SSDF Orbital Station 002  
__Mars orbit_

_Someone had painted the world red._

_He moaned, the sound barely audible over the voice of his heart pounding in his ears. Everywhere he looked -- red. It covered the ground beneath him, the sky above him. It coated his hands, viscous and cloying against his skin. It saturated his clothing, the once-fine linen now little more than blood-soaked rags hanging off his trembling body. Moisture burned his eyes, and when he wiped away his tears they were red._

_Red. Red... _

_Everywhere he looked, everywhere his frantic gaze sought refuge. Red. _

_Red. _

_Surrounding him. Drowning him. There was only red, a never-ending sea of it, fed by an endless river that poured from the stone slab like the Nile in flood. The red inundation lapped at his knees like a hungry tongue, clung to his hands as it pulled him down._

_All around him, everything he could see, touch, taste... Red. _

_The King's blood was red, death was red, his fear and grief and sorrow were red. Red reached for him with crocodile fangs painted with the King's blood and all was redredred... _

_Now and forever._

------------------------

Seto awoke with denial on his lips. He lay perfectly still, his heart pounding wildly against his ribs, as he tried to convince himself that he was in his own bed, in his quarters on Mars Station, not kneeling in a blood-soaked temple in ancient Egypt. He sucked in a deep, calming breath and struggled out of the tangle of sheets.

What... the... _hell_?

The cool air of the room hit him, and he shivered. His skin felt too tight for his body; it prickled with every movement, and he could still feel the cloying thickness of the blood coating it. He scrubbed at his arms, even as he pushed the thought away.

_Nightmare, it was just a nightmare. _He repeated the thought like a mantra. Sweat trickled down his neck as his heart rate gradually slowed. Was this what he had been dreaming about all along? Why did he remember this dream and not the others? Why was he dreaming about the death of some ancient king... and why was it affecting him like this?

And, though he wished he could deny it, it _was_ affecting him. Strongly. As strongly as if it were a genuine memory and not simply a fantasy created by his dreaming mind. But he could still feel the blood as it soaked into the linen of his clothing, clammy and cold against his skin. He could taste the bitter, copper tang of it on his tongue. Grief still lay heavily about him, like a monstrous iron snake coiled about his heart.

He shook himself. This was ridiculous. He didn't believe in that past-life mumbo-jumbo, and even if he had, he had more important things to worry about some dead king who had probably never even existed in the first place.

Seto shuddered and forced the dream -- memory, whatever the hell it was -- into a locked box in the back of his mind, then shoved it away with all the other boxes holding his more personal nightmares. There were far too many of them, now, and some of them sprawled closer to his conscious mind, their seals cracking open. From some of them, his father's hated voice whispered promises that sent thorns twisting through his gut.

Seto didn't want to admit it, but the boxes were getting harder to contain, their locks rusting, rotting away into red dust with age and wear. He knew that he would have to deal with their contents someday, soon. But that day was not today.

Today, he had to find some way to get his Dragon back.

-------------------

The clock built into Piotr Korone's desk had just registered the time as exactly 08:00 when the office door chimed. His visitor was right on time for the meeting they had scheduled to discuss "the Seto Kaiba Problem." Korone opened the door to admit Gears, dressed in her usual work coverall, her dark hair pulled back in a low ponytail, her arms full of report pads and her omnipresent datalink.

"You're looking lovely this fine morning, Catherine," he said in greeting, and watched with delight as her face heated up.

Korone's handsomest smile broke across his face like a sunrise, warming his usually cool gaze. While it was true, as his friends liked to remind him, that he was an incorrigible flirt, he knew better than to carry his teasing too far. It was his habit to verbally prod those around him, but he was rarely deliberately cruel unless provoked. Gears had never provoked him; he just liked making her blush. He sobered and gestured to the data pads she was juggling. "Need any help with that?"

"No, thanks!" she squeaked, still flustered from his first comment, and scurried past him to the desk. Just in time, too, as the first data pad slipped from her grasp and they all spilled onto his desk in a noisy clatter of plastic on plastic.

Getting right down to business, he said, "How is Seto doing? Has he made any progress toward achieving gestalt?"

"Captain Kaiba has been using his remote," Gears reported. She sounded both surprised and relieved. "He may not _like_ the idea that his AI needs to trust him, but he isn't fighting it."

Clearly pleased by the news, Korone grinned at her. "That calls for a celebration." He by-passed the desk in favor of the table against the far wall that held the coffee-maker. "I'll even break out the good stuff, just for you."

Soon, the smell of freshly-brewed coffee permeated the recycled air of the office. Gears took an appreciative sniff as Korone set a steaming cup on the desk in front of her.

"So, if Seto is cooperating and the 'trust values,' as you call them, are going up... What's left?" he asked, dropping into the well-broken-in chair behind the desk. He immediately leaned back and kicked both feet up to rest on one corner of the desk before taking a slow sip of his own coffee. "What else do we need to do to get him back where he belongs?"

"Captain Kaiba is making progress -- far more progress than I had hoped for, actually. But..." She chewed on her lower lip for a second. "The trust values still aren't where they need to be to achieve a successful gestalt. I don't think... I don't think this is going to be enough."

"Can't you just erase whatever caused the issue in the first place?"

"Sure, if nobody cares about losing what little unique personality Blue-Eyes actually has acquired at this stage. Of course, without at least a rudimentary identity of its own, the AI will just be a carbon copy of its pilot, reflecting his own ego back at him in an endless loop..."

"_Ugh_." Korone made a face that had nothing to do with the bitterness of the mouthful of black coffee he had just swallowed. "That doesn't sound very healthy. What about installing one of the back-ups, from before the triggering incident, over the current program?"

Gears looked stricken. "I thought of that, of course. But..."

"Why do I not like the sound of that 'but'?"

"The back-up files were corrupted. I don't know how it happened. I've been over everything with Duke and the crew chiefs. Duke is the one who actually discovered the problem, when he went to reboot Red-Eyes. We didn't find anything really suspicious -- It could just have been a power spike that got through the shielding or something. But both the primary back-up and the redundant copies for all the Duel Mecha are unusable."

"Which is suspicious in and of itself. A little too conveniently inconvenient." Korone frowned. No, that didn't sound good, at all. Especially when there were rumors about an infiltrator on the station. "How sure are you that this 'trust' issue is genuine and not something deliberately introduced into the system?"

"I'm certain it's genuine _and_ that it originated with the last interface of pilot and AI in battle." Gears called up some information on her datalink and showed it to him. "As you can see here--"

"Yes, it's a very pretty graph. Nice colors," he interrupted in a lazy drawl. "But it might as well be ancient Sumerian for all I can tell. What's it mean?"

Gears narrowed her brown eyes at him. "You like to play the technophobe, but I know you can read this as well as I can, _Doctor _Korone."

Caught out, he shrugged and gave her a toothy, and utterly unrepentant, smile. "Okay, so I can read it. I'm still not sure exactly what it is you're trying to show me, here."

"In order to make the AI acceptable to Captain Kaiba, I had to, uh, _suppress_ nearly every personality trait that was contrary to the captain's own. Furthermore, I had to overlay those traits that are most central to his view of himself onto the AI, rather than letting the AI develop new traits of its own. If I eliminate this 'trust issue,' all that's left is the false reflection of Captain Kaiba's personality. At that point, the synergistic connection of pilot and AI becomes moot and..."

Gears shrugged. "The AI would just be a mirror of Captain Kaiba's own mind. Easy to connect with, sure, but with no separate personality, it'd just be a form of mental masturbation. Not a gestalt."

"Seto Kaiba, squared." He gave a low whistle at the disturbing mental image _that_ conjured up. "Scary thought. And worse than useless for piloting a mech into battle."

She nodded miserably, chewing on her lower lip as she stared at the datalink. Beside it on the desk, her untouched coffee began to grow cold as the silence stretched between them.

"I still have some of the older back-ups archived," she ventured, sounding less than enthusiastic about the idea. "There would be a non-trivial loss of function to the resultant gestalt entity, though."

"Studies have shown that the use of archived data, beyond a single iteration, can be detrimental to the pilot. The difference between what the pilot expects of the gestalt entity, and the mech's performance, and what he actually gets from it can cause not only difficulty in combat, but a significant blow to the pilot's confidence in himself and in his machine." Korone tapped his fingers on the desk. "In other words, it'd just magnify the whole trust thing, not negate it."

"There...there is one other thing I could try."

Gears hesitated, then began keying commands into her datalink. "It's risky..."

"What is?"

Still fussing with the datalink, and talking more to herself than to him, she muttered, "I can't pin down a success ratio. It depends too much on Captain Kaiba, and he never quantifies well in my equations."

Korone hid a grin at her aggrieved tone. "He never quantifies in _my_ equations, either, Catherine."

"But--" Gears raised confused eyes up to meet Korone's mischievous gaze. She blinked at him in earnest puzzlement. "You _never_ run probability vectors."

"I meant he's a challenge for me, too." Shaking his head, Korone snorted. Quantifying Seto Kaiba would require an entirely new branch of advanced mathematics, and a super-sized side-order of metaphysics to boot. "He rarely does what I expect him to -- even when I expect him to do the unexpected. Sometimes, I think he sees me as a bigger threat than those he confronts as the Blue-Eyes White Dragon."

"He really..." She stopped, huffed a little sigh, then finished weakly, "...doesn't like psychologists very much, does he?"

"Saying Seto Kaiba 'doesn't like psychologists' is like saying the surface of the sun is 'a little toasty,'" he said, with a grimace. "But he's a good pilot, and he's dedicated to his mission. He puts up with us because, in his eyes, we're necessary evils. He needs us to do our jobs so that he can do his."

Gears gave a distracted nod as she called up a new set of figures and graphs. Then she did a double-take as what she was seeing registered. "_Uh-oh_."

"'Uh-oh'?" He sat up, dropping his feet to the floor, and watched her carefully. "Is that a technical term, Doctor?"

She tapped the screen twice with her fingernail, almost as if she thought it was a stuck needle on an antiquated piece of machinery and would show the proper reading if she dislodged it. The damning readings steadfastly refused to budge. "Oh, this is _bad_."

"'Bad'? Define 'bad', preferably in words of one syllable or less."

"Oh, this is_ very_ bad..." She shook herself, then fixed him with a worried, pleading look. "I had no idea this would happen!"

"What? _Catherine_ --"

"The AI..." She suddenly clutched at her head with both hands, accidentally pulling some of her hair loose from its ponytail. The mousy brown strands fell messily about her face as she slumped in her chair. "All this input from the captain... I never anticipated so much input, not from him. I thought he'd fight it, that he wouldn't open up to Blue-Eyes because..."

Gears scrubbed both palms over her face, then peeked at him through her spread fingers. "Well, because he's _Captain Kaiba_ and he's just so... _him_, but he did, and I didn't think to filter for it, and now the AI is growing so quickly that unless the captain successfully gestalts within the next twenty-four hours, he will never be able to gestalt, not with _this_ AI, and Blue-Eyes will be gone, just like Red-Eyes and, oh god, Piotr, _what am I going to do?!_"

"First, _breathe_." Korone absently patted her on the shoulder as his brain sorted out the long string of babbled explanation. "So... You're saying the Blue-Eyes AI's core personality is changing -- evolving?"

"Exactly." At his skeptical look, she added defensively, "It's natural for the AIs to evolve! They do it every time their pilots gestalt with them."

"They're being reprogrammed by their interactions with the pilots," Korone said, nodding thoughtfully. "The computer 'learns' from each gestalt, and adjusts its programming to better align with the pilot."

"That's not--" Gears started to protest, only to stop short at his up-lifted hand.

"Toh-_may_-toh, toh-_mah_-toh. Just hear me out." At Gears' tightly unhappy shrug, he continued, "The AI learns from its contact with its pilot, altering its programming to better suit the needs of its pilot and forming a rudimentary 'personality' of its own. But Seto hasn't been achieving gestalt with his mech's AI. How could it possibly be evolving?"

"It has to be the remote interface device. We've been trying so hard to get Blue-Eyes to trust Captain Kaiba enough to gestalt again that... I don't know. Maybe we, uh, overcompensated?"

Gears sighed unhappily and worried the corner of her datalink as she continued, "I guess I should have realized... The AIs are programmed to desire interaction with their designated pilots. The more advanced ones, like Blue-Eyes, not only need regular interaction with their pilots, they... crave it. Like a child who wants its parents' attention."

"Or a drug addict who needs a fix."

Gears frowned at him, but Korone didn't notice. The vein in his temple started to throb as his thoughts turned inward. He had tried to tell them. Making the AIs so dependent on their pilots... It was a disaster waiting to happen. His hand clenched around his coffee mug, but he made no move to drink. _Damn it._ That was why he worked so hard to draw the pilots out, to force them to connect with the real world around them rather than becoming caught up in the virtual one inside their bonds with their mecha. He had already lost one pilot, and the defeat -- and the attendant guilt of knowing he had failed to help Yami, who so desperately needed it -- still ate at him. He would be damned if he was going to lose Seto, too.

"Blue-Eyes suddenly started to get all of this attention from Captain Kaiba," Gears said, apparently deciding to ignore his last remark. "Attention it received outside of combat or training drills, and at least most of it positive, approving... Its personality started to develop faster, like a child who's finally realized the adults around him aren't going to get mad at him for being different."

"Seto Kaiba has a rather... _focused_ outlook on things. I should've remembered that and taken it into account when I made my recommendations for the RID settings." Korone sighed and slumped back in his chair. "You know, I've been saying from the beginning that subjecting a human mind to the trauma of melding with an essentially alien consciousness over and over -- and expecting the pilots to stay sane -- is asking for trouble, but I'm beginning to think it's just as bad for the damned machines."

He shot her a narrow look, ignoring the way she bristled at his characterization of her beloved mecha. They had been through that argument often enough by now that they had reduced it to a kind of mental shorthand. "We're damned lucky we don't have a hangar full of eighty-foot tall, heavily-armed, metal psychopaths. You do realize that, right?"

Of course, he was well-aware that luck had little to do with it. Without an ounce of false modesty, he knew that his work was part of the reason none of the enhanced-mecha -- or their pilots -- had crossed that fine line between gestalt and insanity. That the Duel Mecha teams were not only sane, but fit for combat, was a testament to not only his skills, but those of Gears, Duke Devlin, and the rest of their mech/pilot support teams.

He could feel the headache starting behind his eyes. Once they had sorted out Seto's latest crisis, he promised himself he was going to head down to Mars, find some damned _fun_, and have it. He vaguely remembered having fun once; he was pretty sure it had been nothing like this.

"All right," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes tightly shut. "The Blue-Eyes' personality is evolving too rapidly. That's 'bad.' Seto is unable to gestalt with the Blue-Eyes. That's also 'bad.'"

He drew in a deep breath and continued, "If Seto doesn't gestalt with the Blue-Eyes before it evolves too far away from this latest iteration without him, he won't be able to gestalt with it at all, ever, and we'll have to dump the AI, lose the current 'evolved' form of the gestalt-entity, and start from scratch. That is the double-plus-ungood, hardcore, apocalyptic 'bad' of all possible not-good things."

He moved his hand slightly, and his irritated green gaze flashed at her from between his fingers. "I don't think I like 'bad.' I think it's giving me an aneurysm."

After a long moment, he sat back with a huff. "So... What are we gonna do about it?"

"Well..." Her voice slid into an unhappy silence that trembled between them, taut as a bungee cord stretched to its limits. Korone's nerves were rapidly approaching a similar state.

"_Catherine_." He sat up fully and pinned her with a stern look. "Have pity, will ya? I'm a dying man, here. And you and I both know how this is going to go. Sure, we can waste twenty minutes dancing around the issue while I wish I had a bottle of aspirin," -- _or bourbon_ -- "or we can skip straight to the part where you just tell me what you're thinking and I don't actually pound my head on the desk until I'm unconscious."

"But, I don't even know..."

"We're skipping this part, remember? Skip, skip." He made a gesture that was supposed to indicate fast-forwarding to the end of the argument, and took a final scrub at his eyes. "My usual brilliant reasoning has already convinced you that your idea has merit. So, go ahead. Spill it."

Gears tossed him a sour look that ended up a rueful grin when she saw his hang-dog expression. The man had no shame. "Okay, fine. Since you're a dying man and all, I guess it's the least I can do. Still, this is one of my more 'out there' ideas..."

"The box is only there so you'll know when you're thinking out of it," he said, with weary but sincere approval. "Go on."

"I propose to do the opposite of what I've been doing for the past two years. With this AI and this pilot, I've been forced to make the AI more and more accommodating of its pilot, for the sake of Captain Kaiba's ego. There's nothing left for the AI to give. Perhaps Captain Kaiba has matured enough to let Blue-Eyes have its own personality, instead of a watered-down copy of his own."

"It would all depend on whether or not Seto can handle a drastic change in not only the AI, but also the gestalt entity the two of them form together." Korone pondered her suggestion a moment longer, then assayed an explosive sigh. "That's risky, all right."

"Yes. We would have to monitor this gestalt extremely closely. If things go awry... We might have to sacrifice the AI in order to save Captain Kaiba's sanity."

"So it comes down to Seto. And whether or not he's mature enough to trust, not only his Dragon, but you, me..." A troubled look shadowed Korone's usually humor-filled eyes. "...And himself."

"I don't see that there's any other choice." Gears wore an equally troubled expression turning down the corners of her mouth as she toyed with the edge of her datalink. "He's got to finally let Blue-Eyes be itself, and not just a reflection of _him_. And he has to trust that separate personality enough to gestalt with it."

"Yeah, that's all. What the hell are we worried about?" Korone rolled his eyes. Forget Mars. When this was over, he was going to Tahiti.

-------------------------

Seto was less than thrilled to be summoned to Piotr Korone's office on the Medical ring. He scowled as he strode through the long, curving corridors. It wasn't time for his monthly psych evaluation, which was usually the only other time he was forced to darken Korone's doorstep. So, what did the 'good' doctor want with him this time? The scowl deepened as he turned over and discarded possibilities, one after the other, worrying at the problem as he walked.

It didn't help Seto's mood that he had been frustrated in his attempts to find out what Yami was up to on Mars. Something had gone wrong with the retrieval of the ferret program's data, and he had received only gibberish rather than the expected report. It was almost as if the computer running the program had self-destructed in the midst of sending the data. Had Yami spotted the piggybacked command?

Seto's hands clenched at his sides. Damn it, if Yami really had gone over to the other side, Seto would strangle his cousin with his bare hands. Somehow, though, he couldn't quite bring himself to believe that Yami would ever turn traitor. Run away from his obligations -- to Anzu, to his Duel Mech, to his duty -- yes, he had seen Yami do all those things. But turn his back on humanity? For what? Money?

Seto snorted, discarding the notion as quickly as it formed. Yami was many things, most of which made Seto want to thump him, but greedy was not one of them. Yami had all the money he would ever need, and then some. He was destined to inherit not only his father's considerable personal fortune, but Kaiba Corporation, as well, and whatever wealth would come his way from his mother's estate. While many men might not be satisfied even with such an embarrassment of riches, Seto knew that Yami cared about such things little more than Seto himself did. The money was nice -- neither of them were fools enough to believe in the false glamour of poverty -- but it was merely a means to an end, not the goal itself.

What did that leave? Power? Fame? Yami had never had to seek either, having them handed to him on silver platters right along with the spoon in his mouth and his father's favor. Seto freely admitted that _he_ craved power. Power in any situation was security, control -- and, hell, he loved the rush, whether it was from making a killing on the stock market, crushing his opponent in a duel, soaring on his Dragon's great white wings, or unraveling an intellectual puzzle.

Today, however, was obviously not the day for solving the riddle of Yami's behavior, much less his motivation. Seto shoved that thought away, as well, and reached for the sensor beside the office door marked "Dr. Piotr Korone, Ph. D." All he had to do, he reminded himself sternly, was get this over with so that he could get back to the far more important business of recovering his link with his Dragon.

------------------

As usual, Gears was trying to explain her way around the problem rather than simply presenting it head-on. Also as usual, her habit was getting on Seto's nerves.

"I've exhausted all the possibilities, trying to come up with something to get you back in proper sync with your AI. I wish I could just wave a magic wand and make it all right, but it doesn't work like that. The RID was supposed to help elevate your pilot/AI trust values, and it has. But no one, least of all me, anticipated what else it might do..."

"You _do_ like throwing us these curve balls, don't you, Seto?" Korone interjected, with a crooked grin for Seto and a rueful shake of his head at Gears, as he divided his attention between them. "I signed off on the RID project, too, Catherine. You don't get to keep all the blame for yourself on this one. None of us saw it coming."

"But I should have. I should have seen --"

"You're not psychic, Cath--"

"What the hell are you two talking about?" Seto demanded, out of patience with the both of them. "If the so-called 'trust' values are up, isn't that a good thing? _You_," he stabbed a long finger at Gears, "said it was low values in that sector that were keeping me from gestalt."

"They _were_!" Gears clutched her datalink in front of her chest like a shield and refused to meet his eyes.

"And you said this _thing_--" He started to rip the RID from the front of his uniform, then changed his mind. Instead, he covered it with his palm, pressing so hard he felt the pin-back dig into his chest. "You said the RID would _solve_ the damn problem, not make it worse!"

Mouth pinched shut, Gears just hugged herself tighter. It was Korone who responded to the accusation. "Uh, about that. It worked a little _too_ well, actually..."

Seto pinned them both with a glare from cool blue eyes gone suddenly glacial. "_What?_"

"None of us expected you to be quite so... _adept_ at using the thing, Seto," Korone said.

Seto frowned at the use of his personal name, but let it pass. He had long ago given up getting Korone to maintain what Seto considered a suitable conversational distance. For now, Seto just wanted to know what had to be done to get him back where he belonged: with his Dragon.

"It's all my fault," Gears said, eyes teary behind the messy curtain of her hair as her chin drooped. "I adjusted the gain too high. I thought... I thought you wouldn't try very hard, and I overcompensated, and..."

"What did I say about hogging the blame?" Korone sent her a scolding look. "There's plenty to go around. After all, I'm the one who gave you the initial settings, based on my understanding of Seto's personality."

"But I agreed with your assessment. I thought Captain Kaiba would --"

"Could you both do me a favor and not talk about me as if I'm not standing _right here_?" Seto grated the request through clenched teeth.

"Sorry." For once, Korone actually had the grace to look abashed. "We underestimated you, Seto, and for that I apologize." His frown canted upward at the corners. "The level of emotional connection that you've managed to establish is... surprising, to say the least. I'm proud of you."

"Like I care," Seto growled. "Just tell me what all this has to do with my Dragon."

"Right." Korone exchanged a look with Gears. "Skip to the end, Catherine."

She shook her head, but at Korone's returning scowl, relented. "Okay, fine!"

"What is this, bad vaudeville?" Seto took a deep breath, touched his remote, and ruthlessly rammed down on his irritation. "Look, you called me here to tell me something. So, I would appreciate it if you two... _doctors_ would stop dithering and just tell me what the hell is going on."

"Blue-Eyes' AI is evolving and if you don't gestalt with it within twenty-four hours, you won't be able to gestalt with this version of the AI at all, and I'll have to dump it and replace it with a back-up or maybe a new program entirely," Gears said rapidly, then tensed as if waiting for an explosion.

Seto was silent for a moment.

"All right," he said finally. "What are we going to do about it?"

"We have a plan," Korone said, smiling benignly at the two of them as he herded them toward the door. "Come on. We'll explain it to you on the way to General Anderson's office."


	18. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

With General Anderson's approval, things began to move quickly. A quick call to the hangar bay had the flight crew swarming over the Blue-Eyes White Dragon, readying the mech for the experimental gestalt. Even so, it was still several hours later before everything was finally in place for what the tech crews were already calling an historic event.

From his vantage point at the giant Duel Mech's feet, Mokuba watched the white-jumpsuited techs as they double-checked the mech's gantry couplings, making certain the giant robot was in full lock-down mode and that all its safeties were in place. It wouldn't do to have the mech shift in its gantry while the techs were clambering all over its surface.

Given the untried nature of what they were about to attempt, Mokuba had demanded to be present in the hangar, rather than at his usual post in the Control Center. If Seto needed him, Mokuba was determined to be there for him, not just over the comm and through the pilot/Anchor interface, but where he could reach Seto physically if he had to. Mokuba was hoping it wouldn't be necessary, but this was his big brother and he wasn't taking any chances.

Mokuba's Anchor Specialist, an intense red-head from one of the Lagrange colonies, crouched in the cramped secondary cockpit located inside the mech's chest cavity and prepped the white, ovoid Anchor cradle for Mokuba's use. The Specialist, Alister Cromwell, was giving the equipment a thorough going-over, as well as getting it warmed up and ready for the gestalt. The built-in cradle had lain dormant for almost a year, since shortly after the loss of Jupiter Station, and it was imperative to make certain everything was still in top working order.

Alister felt Mokuba's gaze and called down to him, "Almost set, Lieutenant."

"Thanks, Alister," Mokuba called back, raising his voice to be heard over the clamor of activity surrounding them in the busy bay.

Like the Dark Magician, the Blue-Eyes White Dragon was a first generation Duel Mech. And like the Dark Magician, it had once carried both pilot and Anchor, so there was a pod-like Anchor cradle built into the secondary cockpit located in the mech's torso. Dark Magician still had its Anchor cradle, though no one had lain in it since Anzu Mazaki's death. Likewise, the Blue-Eyes had retained its original equipment, even though changes in regulations meant that all Anchors now remained in the relative safety of the station, rather than accompanying their pilots into the heat of battle.

Mokuba tilted his head further back and peered up at the pair of technicians using a small crane to carefully remove the Blue-Eyes' face-plate and lower it to the floor, where a manned loader waited to carry it safely out of the way. Ordinarily, the face-plate, which served as an escape hatch, remained in place. The pilot and flight crew entered through the mech's chest plastron, then climbed a short metal ladder up to the primary cockpit in the massive machine's "skull." But the circumstances were far from ordinary. With the plate removed, everyone who might need it would have immediate access to both pilot and AI interface in the event of an emergency. Mokuba was crossing his fingers and hoping with all his heart that the precaution would prove unnecessary.

He brushed shaggy black hair back from his eyes and turned just in time to spot his brother as Seto stepped into the hangar, flanked by Doctors Korone and Churchill. Gears trailed a few steps behind them, her nose buried in her omni-present datalink, seemingly oblivious to everything else around her.

Ignoring the others, Mokuba ran to meet his brother. "Seto!"

The blue eyes that met his own gray gaze were distracted. "Mokuba. What are you doing down here? You should be in the Control Center, getting ready for--"

Like _that_ had ever been an option. Mokuba rolled his eyes. His mouth settled into a thin scowl that perfectly matched the one on Seto's face. "Alister's prepping the AC in the Blue-Eyes. If you're gonna go through with this crazy 'passive gestalt' thing, I'm gonna be right there with you."

Seto didn't stop frowning, but his eyes lost some of their cool distance. He studied Mokuba closely for a long moment, then nodded. And that, as far as the Kaiba brothers were concerned, was that.

Finally acknowledging Seto's companions, Mokuba nodded at the others. To Korone, he added a warm, "Hi, Doc."

"Hey, kiddo." Korone's grin was a bit tighter around the edges than usual, but no less friendly. "You ready to make history?"

"You bet!" Mokuba sneaked a glance up at his brother's stoic expression and felt his own grin blossom. "Hey, Seto... You do realize you're gonna be the first pilot to ever do this, right? You'll beat Yami to a place in the history books."

For a moment, there was silence. Then Seto snorted, a tiny smirk twitching the corners of his mouth, and some of tension went out of his rigidly correct posture.

Mission accomplished, Mokuba laughed.

---------------------

Alister bent over Mokuba, testing the readings on a hand-held device to make certain the sensors woven into Mokuba's uniform jumpsuit were sending their telemetry properly to the computers in the Control Center. "You comfortable in there, Lieutenant?"

Mokuba nodded, then touched the controls on his headset, keying up the comm to the dedicated line that would connect him to his pilot. For the moment, he left it on "mute" so that he could monitor Seto's preparations for gestalt without disturbing him.

Virtual head-up displays lit up on the inside of the cradle canopy, showing his respiration, heart rate, adrenal output and other bio-values alongside an empty space that would fill with the same information from his brother once the sensors in Seto's flightsuit went live.

Mokuba could not only monitor Seto's progress, he could actively help him achieve the necessary state to attain gestalt. Mokuba reached up and brushed his fingers lightly over the dragon-shaped device pinned to the front of his 'suit. Before climbing up into the primary cockpit, Seto had removed his RID and attached it to Mokuba's jumpsuit. Seto hadn't said anything, but Mokuba had understood the significance of the gesture. He tapped the dragon's nose.

"We'll keep him safe, won't we?" he whispered to the Blue-Eyes. His other hand reached out to brush lightly over the panel outside his capsule. "We always keep him safe."

Almost, he could imagine he felt the Blue-Eyes' firm agreement.

---------------------

In the main cockpit inside the mech's 'skull' cavity, Seto tried not to tense as the sensor ribbons slid into place against his skin. Tensing up would only make things more difficult for him, and the last thing he needed was to make achieving gestalt any harder. He scowled, then forced his facial muscles to relax, smoothing out the expression. _No negativity, dammit!_ He could do this.

He had to.

Drawing in a deep breath, he centered himself using one of the techniques he had been taught. His extensive martial arts training had served him well, giving him the focus and discipline so necessary for a pilot of his caliber.

The flight tech hovering beside him, monitoring the sensor ribbons as they slid into place, nodded at him. "Everything looks good, Captain."

Seto absently returned the nod as he accepted his helmet from the tech, who gave his sensors one last check, then stepped from the cockpit onto the platform outside. The missing faceplate left the cockpit wide open to the hangar, a novelty Seto found more unsettling than he would have imagined.

He was startled from his unhappy contemplations by Gears hopping over the rim of the mech's open 'skull' and into the cabin with him. She was still clutching her datalink and refused to meet his gaze as she set to work untangling a mess of cables that she began plugging into ports in the command sling. When she finally approached him, he instinctively leaned away from her touch.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, his voice as flat and cold as his eyes.

She recoiled. "I... I just n-need to attach this to your helmet, Captain Kaiba. So I can monitor your progress. During the gestalt, I mean." She gulped, her words speeding up as she continued, "It's a direct connection with my datalink, so there's no lag-time while I monitor your progress, and I'm sure there _will_ be progress this time, because of how well you were doing with the remote interface, and I know you won't let Blue-Eyes down."

She took a deep breath and concluded, with a faintly sheepish shrug and smile, "I will need the readings as fast as possible to adjust things, if need be."

"Very well." Seto didn't like it, but he recognized the necessity, so he only nodded curtly, indicating that she could proceed. He watched her suspiciously as she attached the new leads to a jack on the side of his helmet.

"I'll be outside on the gantry," she said, adjusting the cable so that it didn't interfere with any of the mech's sensor ribbons. "This relay will transmit the readings to me fast enough, so don't worry. Just concentrate on Blue-Eyes."

She hesitated, one foot in the cockpit, the other stretched across to the gantry platform. "Um. I just wanted to say that I... I'm sorry, Captain Kaiba. For underestimating your degree of... professionalism, I guess. Your dedication to Blue-Eyes. Sometimes, I ... I don't read people very well."

Seto snorted. "I don't care about your social short-comings, Doctor Mann. All I care about is fixing this mess." He looked away, his gaze almost caressing the controls that surrounded him. "Stop apologizing and do your job -- _right_, this time -- so I can get back to doing mine."

Gears' face flamed scarlet and her grip on her datalink turned knuckle-white, but she simply gave a spastic nod and stepped completely onto the gantry. "Of course, Captain."

Mokuba's voice over the comm interrupted any reply Seto might have made. "Seto?"

"I read you, Mokuba." Gears already dismissed from his thoughts, Seto's voice warmed infinitesimally.

"You're coming through loud and clear, big brother."

In front of Seto, a bank of screens lit up with biofeedback readings and the status of the mech's active systems. The comm was green and active; the pilot/Anchor interface was on stand-by.

"All systems are 'go' on this end. Looks like your crew kept the AC in good shape, even if I wasn't using it," Mokuba continued briskly, though there was definitely a smile in his voice.

"Good." Seto would have expected nothing less of the techs caring for his Dragon. "You ready to do this, Lieutenant?"

"Ready when you are, Captain."

Even though his Anchor couldn't see him, Seto nodded as he swept his gaze once more over the banks of controls before him. Everything was reading in the green. He took a deep, centering breath.

"All right," Seto said. "Let's do it."


	19. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

_Location unknown_

Yami dreamed of blood and darkness, of shadows like copper knives carving their sharp claim into his flesh.

He awoke with his heart laboring in his chest and a fine sheen of sweat covering his skin. Every muscle ached. His left hip throbbed in time with his heartbeat. He lay, unmoving, as his mind catalogued his body's complaints, and he attempted to sort memory from dream.

The last clear thing he remembered was struggling with Tanaka's henchman atop the KC Mars office tower. And then...

Yami's eyes shot open as the recollection hit him with all the subtlety of a Duel Mech's fist. _He'd gone over the side of the damn roof._

The breath hitched in Yami's throat. Frozen, he ran that notion through his memory again, and came up with same conclusion. Yes, he had definitely fallen from the top of the tower. He could remember the horrible sound of the wind rushing past him as he plummeted toward the ground and certain death. And then the night had seemed to swirl around him, the shadows that had followed him over the edge had wrapped themselves tightly against his body... and the world had disappeared in a vortex of black and purple energy that opened up and swallowed him whole.

Swallowing hard, Yami sat up slowly and took a good look around. Wherever he was, it wasn't in that place of shadows. He was in a small chamber, roughly ten feet square, hewn from living rock. The walls, floor, even the ceiling were plain, unfinished limestone. The only source of light was a small dome lamp perched in a niche carved into the wall near the only door. There were no windows, vents or other openings that he could see.

He took a deep breath through his nose. The air was musty with the scent of dust and disuse, but it wasn't stale, so fresh air had to be coming in from somewhere. That made him feel only a little better; despite the cot and the lamp, the stone room was all too reminiscent of a tomb. He thanked good fortune that he wasn't claustrophobic.

Yami flung back the thin sheet that had covered him and rose unsteadily to his feet. He was surprised to find that someone had bandaged his wounded hip while he had been unconscious. They had also taken his clothing, replacing his jeans and buckled shirt with a loose garment that hung on him like an old-fashioned nightshirt. He fingered one of the sleeves. The material felt coarse, cheap -- probably cotton -- and had been dyed a rather dull shade of gray. The garment had a simple keyhole neckline, long sleeves, and a hem that reached his ankles. He had seen something like it before -- on one of his mother's archaeological expeditions, he thought. He searched his memory, but the specific image eluded him. He was sure it would come to him, later.

His bare feet were silent on the stone floor as he padded lightly over to the door to examine it. The lintel was only a few inches higher than his head. The opening was blocked by a very solid-looking wooden slab. He gave the handle an experimental tug, then push. Nothing happened. Unsurprisingly, the door was locked from the outside. He pressed his ear to the door, holding his breath as he listened for any sound of activity outside, but heard nothing.

This place, wherever it might be, seemed as still and silent as a tomb.

Shuddering at the thought, he turned his attention to the lamp in its niche beside the door. The lamp was a simple, self-contained dome that generated a weak, bluish light that barely illuminated the small room. Even with the light, the shadows were thick along the walls and in the corners.

Yami lifted the dome and hefted it experimentally in one hand. The dome was lightweight and made of a rather thin and brittle plastic -- not much use as a potential weapon, but he filed it away for future reference, just in case. He carried the light with him as he continued his exploration of the room.

The lamp in one hand, he ran the fingers of the other over the rough stone walls. There were plenty of pits and imperfections, but nothing to indicate the seam of a hidden passageway. Not that he had expected to find one, but it was his duty to find some means of escape and he couldn't afford to overlook even a remote possibility. Finished with his examination of the rest of the room, Yami tugged the cot away from its place against the wall farthest from the door and checked the spot where it had rested. Again, he found nothing useful. The cot itself was nothing more than a simple wooden frame, with a lattice of ropes instead of springs beneath the thin mattress pad.

He righted the mattress, shoved the cot back against the wall, and slumped down onto the bed. His head ached from his exertions, and his bullet wound throbbed. Thoughtfully, he traced his fingers over the bandages on his hip. Whoever had placed him in this room, this cell, had also tended his injuries. So, they didn't want him dead -- at least, not right away. He hoped that would work to his advantage.

In the meantime, he needed to conserve his meager energy reserves and regain some of his strength. With that in mind, he lay down on the cot and drew the sheet back over his body. He had placed the lamp on the floor beside the cot; its muted glow made the shadows that surrounded him seem that much darker. Recalling how the shadows had... come alive... before, Yami kept a wary on the circle of darkness encroaching on his resting place, but the light held it at bay.

For now, at least, the shadows were simply that -- shadows.

His thoughts in turmoil despite his mental and physical exhaustion, Yami watched the shadows until his restless dreams reclaimed him.


	20. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

_SSDF Orbital Station 002  
__Mars orbit_

"Mokuba?" The voice over the open comm line was familiar and warm, if a bit more tense than usual. "You okay in there, buddy?"

"Sure thing, Doc," Mokuba said, and felt a grin tug at his mouth. With anyone else, it might have surprised him, but Dr. Korone always made him smile, no matter how serious the situation. "You guys ready out there?"

"You bet," Dr. Korone said, and if his cheerfulness sounded a bit forced, Mokuba was willing to overlook it. "We're rarin' to go."

Mokuba snickered.

"Gimme a shout if you need anything," Korone said. "I'll be standing by on comms."

"You got it, Doc."

Alister finished fussing about with Mokuba's harness and lowered the outer shield on the pod-like Anchor cradle. He leaned down through the side opening so that they were face to face.

"Remember," Alister said, "no matter what, your safety -- and that of your pilot -- comes first. No one's ever done this kind of gestalt before. If something comes up that you and Captain Kaiba can't handle, you hit the panic button. Got it?"

Mokuba gave a dutiful nod and tossed Alister a cocky thumbs-up as the lights from the AC's console danced across his youthful features. Despite his confidence in his brother's skills, Mokuba kept his expression appropriately solemn. It wouldn't do to jinx things by getting cocky, now. "Got it."

Alister nodded and climbed out of the cockpit. No sooner had he disappeared from view than another tech took his place on the gantry, giving the mech's couplings a final once-over.

Mokuba was torn between rolling his eyes at the thought that they all believed his brother needed all this malarkey, and sighing in relief at all the extra precautions they were taking. He had every confidence in Seto's ability to handle whatever this gestalt might throw at them, but...

This was his brother.

And as far as Mokuba was concerned, there was nothing more important in the solar system.

------------------------

It had taken less effort than Seto had anticipated to prepare himself for the gestalt attempt. No... He discarded that thought. This would be no mere "attempt." He _would_ achieve gestalt, this time. He simply had to believe that. Anything less was defeatist, and that was unacceptable. He _would_ succeed.

With Mokuba standing by, Seto deliberately relaxed his body into the pilot's sling, letting the harness take his weight. He calmed his mind with the ease of long, hard-won practice.

And then he waited.

And waited.

Impatience gnawed at his nerves. He found the fingers of one hand drumming against his thigh in an unaccustomed bout of nerves and, with a grimace, forced himself to stop.

"Nothing's happening," he growled into the open comm line between himself and the AI specialist seated, out of direct sight, on the gantry.

"You'll have to be patient, Captain," Dr. Mann -- Gears -- said calmly. "This isn't going to be easy... For either you or Blue-Eyes."

Seto grunted a response, his attention on the VR display. His "ribbon" -- the graphic which represented his consciousness -- was quiescent, waiting for the Blue-Eyes' AI to approach it. Reminding himself firmly that he was supposed to remain passive, Seto reined in his impatience and his instinctive urge to reach out for the AI.

"You can talk, if you like. It's not going to disturb anything, right now. Blue-Eyes is going to be like this for some time, I think," Gears said, as the uneasy silence stretched over the comm.

"How is this different from when the AI was 'frightened' of me?" Seto finally asked. He still wasn't entirely comfortable discussing computer algorithms in terms of human emotions.

"Oh, well..." She sounded surprised, as if she hadn't expected that question from him.

"Yes?" he prompted.

"Well...You see, it's because Blue-Eyes isn't retreating from you, now. I know it probably looks the same from your point of view. But you're doing the right thing, waiting for him to reach for you. Blue-Eyes is just not quite... certain of his welcome, that's all. Before, you were..." There was a pause, while Gears audibly groped for a diplomatic sounding word, "..._reaching_ for it in a way that scared Blue-Eyes, so the AI retreated from you."

Seto frowned. Did that mean that the AI could have -- _should_ have? -- been doing that all along? What would that mean for the resultant gestalt? Would it be deeper? More... intimate, somehow? What would it be like, to be a part of that? Was that what Yami had had with his Dark Magician, then so carelessly thrown away in the name of mourning?

"So, we're trying to teach it to come to me on its own," he said, finally. Despite the slight note of a hesitant lilt at the end, it was more a statement of fact than a question. Gears answered it, anyway.

"Yes, exactly! I've had to keep Blue-Eyes' personality suppressed for so long, he's not certain how to act. That's why he's behaving so tentatively, now. I don't think he actually fears you, _per se_. Not anymore."

Again, she hesitated. Seto wondered what she wasn't saying -- and if she realized that she was using the masculine pronoun for the AI, a habit she was usually careful to avoid in Seto's presence.

"If I'm right, you'll only have to endure such a 'passive' gestalt this one time. Then the two of you, pilot and AI, will figure out how to share the responsibility and control of achieving a true partnership in gestalt."

Unable to completely hide his tension, his... _concern_, Seto grated, "How can you be so certain of that?"

"Well, Yami did it with Dark Magician--" She caught her breath, then exclaimed softly, "Oh, my!"

"What? What is it?" Seto asked as an unaccustomed frisson of fear, reluctantly acknowledged and as quickly suppressed, slithered down his spine. Whatever reply Gears made was lost to him, as he felt the Dragon's AI -- finally -- make genuine contact.

A hint of the AI's... _anticipation?_... swept over him, through his interface with the machine. Mixed in with the anticipation, if that's what it truly was and not just his imagination, he thought he felt a touch of _hesitationuncertainty -- _and a whisper of_ dutydevotion,_ that left him gasping in its wake.

He was startled by the impact of that fleeting contact. He hadn't expected it to affect him quite so strongly. It wasn't at all what he'd expected, though he honestly couldn't say what he _had_ thought he would feel from the machine.

"Captain? Did you get anything from him that time?" Gears asked, sounding eager. "My datalink showed a definite spike in the output from Blue-Eyes, and there was a corresponding surge in primary TEM activity --"

Seto interrupted, still feeling the aftereffects of that brief contact and not exactly in the mood for conversation. He shook his head, as if that would clear his suddenly muddled perceptions. "I definitely got... something."

"It felt positive, right? The contact?" Now, she sounded hesitant, as if uncertain of his reaction. "My readings indicate that it should have..."

Seto swallowed hard, unable to relax, even slightly, until he felt the touch of his Anchor's mind through the secondary TEM interface. Unlike the primary unit, which linked him to the AI, the pilot/Anchor interface was one-way. Mokuba could affect him, but there was no reciprocation, and the degree to which the two human minds could touch was far more limited than that of pilot and AI. The secondary TEM unit transmitted something that might be termed "empathy," whereas the primary unit allowed for true "thought to thought" contact between man and machine.

"What, exactly, _was_ that?" he demanded, finally finding enough saliva to moisten his throat enough to speak. He tried, and failed, to keep the tremor out of his voice.

"_That_, Captain Kaiba, is what a thirty-two percent alignment with your mech's AI is supposed to feel like! It's back down to fourteen percent, but holding steady. It hasn't fallen back down to zero, as it did before."

The bounce, the note of almost _glee,_ in her voice triggered his anger. _She_ hadn't done anything, after all; it had been the Dragon's achievement -- and his. He forced down his (perhaps irrational) irritation, along with everything else he was currently working so diligently to suppress, and shoved it to the back of his mind. He could feel the beginning of a tension headache throbbing at the base of his skull.

Seto closed his eyes, breathed in the pattern that would calm him. It worked, to an extent. But when he opened his eyes, his jaw was still clenched so tightly he was seeing sparks. When Gears' quiet voice issued over the comm again, he jerked in the pilot's sling hard enough to lift his boots off the floor. He slammed them back down, stilling the sling's movements and literally grounding himself, again.

"Captain Kaiba? Look at your display." Gears' voice was brisk, as if she hadn't noticed his momentary weakness.

_What the hell do you _think_ I'm looking at?_ Seto barely kept himself from snapping the comment out loud. With a supreme effort, he clamped down on his aggravation. It wouldn't do for his Dragon to sense it and think the anger was directed at it. He focused on the display, where the AI's VR ribbon was tentatively nudging his own.

"This is really going to work!" Gears cheered, and Seto was vaguely aware of a muted chorus of voices echoing the sentiment over the various comm lines and in the hangar below.

"What's it doing?" he demanded. "What is it waiting for?"

"Oh, Blue-Eyes is running his heuristics routine, comparing branches on the probability tree," Gears said brightly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "In other words, he's trying to calculate your reaction to his overtures. He's been worried, you know. He's been thinking you may not like him if he's no longer just a reflection of your personality. We're still seeing some of that...

"But, given time, the impulse programmed into the core AI to gestalt with a pilot, with _you_ specifically, will overwhelm that lingering doubt enough for Blue-Eyes to reach for you, again. I expect we're going to have to go through several more of these 'trial passes' before a true gestalt can be achieved."

The AI surged forward again, bringing with it a sense of a_nticipationuncertainty _and_ dutydevotion _that threatened to overwhelm Seto with its intensity. If he hadn't been supported in the pilot sling, he would have reeled from the impact. He shook his head, anyway, as if the blow had been a physical one. The AI's "emotions" were getting stronger with each pass.

"Seto?" Mokuba's voice came over the headset, calm and professional. "Your adrenaline levels are elevated. Focus with me, so we can slow your breathing and heart-rate back down to where they need to be."

For one serene moment, Seto turned his attention to his brother's voice, letting Mokuba soothe his nerves, even as the shared breathing restored his equilibrium. Just for that single, all-too-brief moment, he let himself enjoy the peace he had only ever achieved in this one place: held safe inside his Dragon, surrounded and supported by his brother's presence resting softly against his mind.

Focused once more on his goal, Seto let his thoughts drift, and quietly waited for the Dragon's AI to make the next move.

_Anticipationfear_, _devotionduty_... and something new, something he had never felt from it before. It was... a feeling of warmth and safety, of... almost... Seto's hands clenched in frustration as he failed to quantify what that feeling meant. It had almost felt like... Mokuba?

The next projection from the AI, still carrying that unnamed feeling, brushed against Seto's mind. For one shining moment, the Dragon's ribbon wound around his, wrapping him up in that strange, wonderful, utterly _terrifying_ feeling.

Seto's breathing hitched in what was almost a sob. _Oh, god_... _I can't do this._ Panic surged through him. He couldn't remain open and, and _vulnerable_ like this. He had to make it stop, make it _not be_. It was too dangerous; Gozaburo had taught him that, and Seto still had the scars to remind him of his father's painful lessons. He shuddered as he ripped his mind from the interface, in that moment, uncaring of the consequences.

"_I can't!_" The denial was torn from his throat. He panted, the air in the open cockpit suddenly seeming thin and stale. His heart pounded against his breastbone, his pulse frantic in his ears. Blackness flickered at the edges of his vision.

"-- Seto! Listen to me!" Mokuba's voice finally penetrated the roaring in Seto's ears. "I'm here, big brother. I'm right here and I won't let anything..." He broke off, and the comm clicked as he switched channels. "Seto, I'm on the private frequency. No one else is listening. It's just you and me, bro. Just like always, right? You and me. We're safe here. You know you can trust me. We're safe. Just you and me..."

Seto listened to the soothing words, knowing they were true. Mokuba never lied to him. Not about the important stuff, not about... this. And he always had Seto's back, just as Seto would always protect Mokuba, with his own life if he had to.

"I'm... all right, now," Seto said. Or tried to. It came out as little more than a strained whisper from a throat suddenly as dry as the Sahara. He felt Mokuba reach for him through their link, watching absently as the graph on the TEM console shifted to indicate the increase in his Anchor's signal strength.

Strange to think that such a small piece of technological magic could mean so much to him, to the both of them. They had been close as small children, but their father had deliberately played them off one another, in much the same way he had fomented the intense rivalry between Seto and Yami. It had only been after their first successful connection through the TEM unit that the Kaiba brothers had truly come together again. Now, it seemed as if nothing could possibly come between them.

Seto let Mokuba guide him and watched as, once again, the indicators on the vital signs monitors returned to their proper levels.

"...Thanks, little brother," Seto said, softly, knowing only Mokuba would hear him.

"Anytime, bro," Mokuba said, with a fierce determination and love that came through clearly, despite his hushed tone. "Anytime."

"Don't feel as if you have to talk, now." Gears' voice came over the other comm line. Unaware that she was interrupting anything, she continued, "The alignment was at sixty-seven percent that last time. It's now hovering near the median -- fifty percent, fifty one... forty-nine..."

Her voice trailed off, as if she had forgotten she was talking to him and not just herself. There was a short silence, then she came back, her tone brisk as she added, "It's fluxuating some, but that's only to be expected and is no cause for concern."

Another pause, and the sound of typing, then, "At this point, Captain, if you're getting some idea of what Blue-Eyes wants, and you think you can supply it, you should go ahead and give it a try. Just _offer_. Be gentle. Don't push, don't grab, just ...offer what you can to Blue-Eyes, and we'll see if he takes it."

Seto nodded, although he knew she couldn't see it. Mokuba was right. He could do this. _He had to._ With the Duel Mecha ranks so severely depleted, he was needed more than ever. He couldn't be like Yami and let his own selfish cowardice drive him away from his duty as the Blue-Eyes' pilot.

Holding that thought firmly in mind, he reached carefully out to the AI -- the Blue-Eyes, _his Dragon_ -- and offered it...

His trust.


	21. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

_Location unknown_

The shadows curled in sinuous arabesques around Yami, glowing like dark embers borne up by the wind. They whispered to him in a forgotten language that was at once strange... and strangely familiar.

'..._Nesu_...'

Their voice was the voice of ghosts, of desert winds and the haunted echoes of lost tombs. At once one and many, the shadows' voice resonated in his bones and blood. He shivered with the realization that the voice seemed to by-pass his ears, arriving directly in his brain without any physical aid. As a Duel Mecha pilot, he had become accustomed to having another entity's thoughts touching his, but _this_...

_This_ made his blood run cold.

Beneath his closed lids, Yami's eyes moved restlessly. His body tried to obey his mind's commands to get away from the entreating shadows, but he was lost somewhere between dream and reality and the paralysis of sleep still held sway.

'_Netjer-nefer_...'

A soft sound of denial escaped his throat. His head moved, shifting minutely on the thin pillow beneath it.

'..._Sa Re_...'

Yami stood on a featureless plain of black and purple shadows. It stretched endlessly all around him, the "ground" beneath his feet a mirror reflection of the "sky" above him. The air was still and thick, almost too thick to breathe. The sharp tang of ozone burned his nose and throat with every labored inhalation. The atmosphere crackled with something like electricity, raising gooseflesh on his bare arms. The air seemed heavy with the weight of an approaching storm, the circling shadows eager and expectant as they closed around him. He shivered, wondering if they wanted more of his blood.

'_Neb Tawy_...'

Flashes of photo-negative lightning, purple against the dark pseudo-sky, lit the surreal landscape at intervals. One such strobe-light flash revealed that he was no longer alone: a dark silhouette stood across from him, just out of reach. The silhouette was vaguely man-shaped, but completely featureless except for a pair of eyes that blazed red in the gloom.

'..._ Nesut-bity_...'

Inwardly, Yami shuddered. Outwardly, he refused to show fear. He straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin. His voice strong and clear, he demanded, "Who are you?"

The silhouette had no visible mouth, but Yami heard its whispered reply as clearly as a shout. '..._Bakek_...'

"Is..." Yami had to swallow before he could continue. "Is that your name?"

The figure's red eyes bored into him. The creature's gaze was predatory, mesmerizing. Yami felt like a tantalizing morsel placed before a hungry leopard. He forced himself not to give way under the weight of that awful regard. He could almost feel its slow smile like the scaly glide of a snake across his skin.

"Why have you brought me here?" He licked nervously at suddenly dry lips. "What do you want from me?"

'_Ankhek _... _khepeshek_...'

That last word had sounded like something he should know. _Khepesh_? Like the sword? Or was that 'khopesh'? His thoughts spun dizzingly. He was beginning to wish he had paid more attention to his mother's lectures on ancient history.

' ... _Khet nebet nefret wabet_...'

The negative lightning flashed again, and in its purple wake, Yami was shocked to find that the creature had gone down on one knee. Its left arm was crossed over its chest, clenched fist resting over where a man's heart would be; its right arm was raised in what seemed to be a respectful salute. The odd posture struck him as somehow familiar, but he couldn't immediately place where he might have seen it before. He shoved the mystery to the back of his mind, where it continued to nag at him. For a long second, Yami could only stare at the thing kneeling before him. When he found his voice, it was strained.

"What the hell _are_ you?" Yami whispered, fighting the urge to back away -- or, worse, to run. But he couldn't run from the thought that suddenly reared its shaggy head like a lion about to pounce. "...What am _I?_"

The creature raised its head, its red gaze piercing him once more, pinning him in place. That terrible smile widened with satisfaction as it intoned its answer. This time, its eerie voice rang aloud, causing the dark clouds to tremble and shaking the very ground beneath Yami's feet.

"...You are _**ours**_."

---------------------

Yami bolted from sleep.

Panting as if he had just run a marathon, he lay for a moment, his gaze darting about the stone room to reassure himself it had only been a dream. When he saw that he was alone, that no strange figure made of shadows hovered over him ready to pounce, he relaxed against the thin pillow. An explosive sigh parted his lips, then he gulped down a deep breath and tried to force his racing heartbeat to slow. Sweat stung his eyes; he dragged a corner of the sheet up to scrub wearily at his face.

A sound outside the door to his cell had him untangling himself from the twisted sheet. He flung it aside and scrambled to his feet. Silent as a spirit, he glided across the floor and took up station beside the doorway, flattening himself against the wall. The rough, uneven stone dug into his back through the thin fabric of his robe, but he ignored the discomfort, all his attention focused on the sounds coming through the closed door. Yami held his breath and tried to blend into the shadows along the wall as the door slowly creaked open.

A lone figure stepped into the opening. Yami had a brief impression of a white robe, similar to his own, and a turban-wrapped head before he lunged forward. Yami caught the other man by surprise, one arm snapping tightly around the slender torso. Using his captive as a shield, Yami hooked his other arm around the man's neck and gave it a warning squeeze. The man stopped struggling, though his body remained tensed. Yami knew that the man would try to escape his hold if the opportunity presented itself. He had no intention of giving his captive that opportunity. His hold secure, Yami twisted them both around so that his back was to the room and they were facing the open door.

That was when he spotted the second man, looming in the doorway.

Guy Number Two was taller than Yami's unwilling shield and much broader across the shoulders. He filled the narrow opening, almost blocking the dim light from the corridor beyond. He was dressed in another of the ubiquitous robes, this one a muted saffron color, and his shaven head was bare. He scowled at Yami.

"Is this how you repay our hospitality?" the tall man demanded. His voice was deep and rather coarse, as if he gargled regularly with gravel. "Release Lord Malik, at once!"

Yami tightened his grip and forced his captive to back further into the room. "Hospitality? Is that what you call it?"

"We tended your wounds," the tall man pointed out, his tone full of anger. "Gave you shelter--"

"Locked me in this cell," Yami countered. "Who are you working for? Tanaka? How did you bring me here?"

The man he held captive had ceased to struggle -- probably because struggling only threatened to cut off what little air Yami was allowing him to take in -- but he choked out, "We are not your enemies!"

"I'll be the judge of that," Yami snapped. He kept a wary eye on the man in the doorway. The big guy would have to duck to clear the lintel. That might allow Yami to dodge around him and escape the cell, but he had no idea what awaited him outside of this room. He needed more information. "If you're not my enemies, then answer my questions. Tell me who you are!"

"He is Rashid. I am called Malik," Yami's captive wheezed. "Release me, and I'll answer your questions as best as I can."

"No... I can't take that chance..."

"No one here wants to harm you," Malik said.

"I've heard that one before," Yami growled. The last time someone had said that to him he had been beaten up, shot, and tossed off a tall building. "Are you working for Tanaka?"

"I do not know this 'Tanaka,'" Malik said. When Yami let up some of the pressure on Malik's throat, the man greedily -- and noisily -- sucked air into his lungs. "I assure you, we do not serve him."

Something about the way Malik phrased it, set off new alarms in Yami's mind. Malik "oofed" as Yami's grip tightened involuntarily. In a dangerous voice, Yami said, "Then who do you serve?"

It was Rashid who responded. "We serve the Nameless Pharaoh, he who gave himself to the Shadows so that mankind might not be enslaved to Chaos."

Yami froze. _Gave himself to the shadows...?_ The words brought the memory of his nightmare crashing down on him. He felt the floor waver under his feet.

_He gave himself to the shadows._

_You are __**ours**_.

"No!"

The denial was ripped from Yami's throat just as an all-too-familiar agony stabbed through his temples. The others forgotten, he staggered back, his hands clutched to his head. His skull felt as though it were being split apart by the pain. His breath coming in sobs, he sank to the floor.

Distantly, as if they were coming from far away, he heard voices speaking, but the disjointed words barely penetrated the red haze of torment clouding his thoughts.

"...happening ... him?"

"...should we...?"

"...know... help..."

"Send for... physician..."

"Help me..."

Gentle hands lifted Yami, though he was barely aware of it. He felt the rumpled sheets beneath him as he was placed back on the cot and a cool hand settled on his brow. The touch was oddly soothing.

"Rest," said a soft voice.

Then the pain crashed down on him again like a punishing wave, sweeping away all thought, and Yami sank once more into the black depths of unconsciousness.


	22. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-two

_Horus Airlines Flight #23  
__Somewhere over the Arabian Peninsula_

Yugi went to smother a yawn with his hand and, before he realized what he was doing, nearly poked his eye out with the forgotten puzzle piece clutched in his fingers. He muffled his instinctive yelp, dropped the offending piece into the golden box in his lap, and glanced around sheepishly to see if his antics had attracted the attention of his fellow passengers. To his relief, no one seemed to have noticed.

No one, that is, except his grandfather, who spoke without looking up from his crossword puzzle. "Maybe you should put that thing away and take a nap."

Flushed with embarrassment, Yugi fiddled with the partial pyramid resting in his lap. He had made a lot of progress, fitting in a few new pieces at the beginning of the flight from the Ra's al Khaymah spaceport where their shuttle had landed, but the puzzle was still incomplete. He picked up another piece and turned it slowly over in his fingers, studying the way the cabin lights glinted off the golden metal. After those first few successes, no matter which way he turned the pieces, or how many times he tried to make them fit, he had made no further headway.

Yugi glanced at his grandfather. He had to admit, a nap sounded tempting. "How much longer 'til we're at the Luxor airport?"

"Long enough for you to catch forty winks," Solomon said, with a wink of his own. "We'll only be stopping at the hotel long enough to drop off our luggage. Someone from the expedition will be there to take us to the site, and I'll finally get to see these tomb paintings that have Arthur so excited."

As he listened to his grandpa, Yugi carefully took the puzzle apart and tucked the pieces back into their box, before returning the box to his carry-on bag. His mind wandered to another puzzle: what to do about his budding ..._friendship_ with Yami. They were still in that awkward "getting to know you" phase, and now they weren't even on the same planet. He really hoped this trip, and the unanticipated separation, wasn't going to mess things up between them.

His fingers twisting around themselves in his lap, Yugi peered up through his bangs, canting a sideways glance at his grandpa. "Grandpa?"

"Yes?"

"How long is this trip going to last, anyway?"

"About a week, maybe a little longer. I can't really afford to leave the shop for too much longer than that." Solomon set the crossword magazine aside and turned in his seat so that he was facing Yugi. "Is there a problem? Last night, you seemed excited about this trip. Aren't you still looking forward to seeing the tomb?"

"Of course I am! I just..." Yugi huffed a sigh and stared at his hands for a few seconds before continuing. "You remember my friend Yami, right? The guy I went to get hamburgers with last night?"

"...Yes," Solomon said slowly. "Yugi-- Are you saying that this person is more than a 'friend'?"

Yugi felt his face heat up. "Maybe." He ducked his head a bit further. "I... I think I'd like for him to be... more. Someday."

"I see." Solomon nodded gravely. Then he reached over and gave Yugi a reassuring pat on the knee. "Don't worry about it, m'boy. If he's as special as you think he is, I'm sure he'll understand. It's only a week, after all."

"I guess so..."

"Tell you what..." Solomon gave him another wink. "After we get settled, I'll let you make a -- very short! -- 'gate-sat phone call to Mars, so that your friend will know you didn't run out on him on purpose. Okay?"

"Thanks, Grandpa!" Interplanetary calls routed through the jump-gate satellite relay system were expensive, but they allowed the participants to communicate in real-time. Yugi would have to look up Yami's number, or call his office if the number was unlisted, but that was the least of his worries at the moment. He would have given his grandfather a huge hug, but the armrests got in the way, so he settled for beaming happily, instead. "I won't talk long, I promise."

"Now that that's taken care of, why don't you try to take that nap," Solomon said, retrieving his crossword and picking up his pen. "I'll wake you before we land."

Yugi nodded and arranged himself more comfortably in his seat. He really was kind of tired; they had been on the go since four a.m., Mars time, and planet lag was beginning to catch up with him. He closed his eyes and thought of Yami, a dreamy smile curving his lips.

He was asleep before the plane was over the Red Sea.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-three

_SSDF Orbital Station 002  
__Mars orbit_

Seto watched the alignment graph on the monitor directly before him. The AI's white "ribbon" was starting to encircle Seto's blue one. If he turned his attention inward, he could feel the steady stream of the AI's intentions flowing underneath.

He felt a brief surge of pride at being the first to attempt this, at knowing that he and his Dragon would be the first to accomplish this. It was something that was his alone -- Gozaburo could never take it away from him; Yami would never eclipse him. Unanticipated pride warmed him. He almost sent a burst of that sudden pride toward the AI before he remembered he had to remain passive.

He shifted uncomfortably in the pilot's sling. Ordinarily, he would already be deep in gestalt, unaware of his physical body except as status read-outs on the virtual displays. Now, however, he was all-too-aware of the minute pressure points affecting various portions of his anatomy as he hung suspended in a harness designed for the safe containment of the human body in zero-g. It was never intended for extended use in a gravity field. His flightsuit rustled as he switched positions once more, and Gears seemed to take that as her cue to start chattering at him.

"Your readings are looking good, Captain. Everything is right where I would expect it to be at this point, and Blue-Eyes is responding well. I think he's really going to do it this time. In fact, I'm sure of it. I know he's missed you, so he's bound to be eager to gestalt with you again."

Seto couldn't help it. As much as he wanted to achieve this gestalt, hearing her babble on about the machine's emotional responses was simply too much. He made a derisive little sound that, unfortunately, the mike picked up.

"I know you don't believe it," Gears said. "But the Duel Mecha have feelings. Their AIs are programmed to want human contact, specifically, contact with their designated pilots. In fact, they need a certain amount of interaction in order to function properly. That need lends itself to the AI developing a strong affection for its pilot."

Seto was momentarily speechless. After a few seconds of gaping at the comm console, he managed to find his voice -- and, with it, the flat, sarcastic tone he had always wielded as a weapon of crass destruction. "Are you trying to tell me my Dragon loves me?"

He couldn't see Gears, but he could hear the flinch in her voice when she replied. "Um... Well. Would you be more comfortable with the phrase 'likes you a lot'?"

"...Have you ever considered setting up an appointment with Dr. Korone?"

"Uh? I see him all the time. In fact, we have daily status meetings. Why would I need an appointment?"

"Never mind."

"Are you feeling all right, Captain? The stress isn't getting to you, is it?" She had the nerve to sound concerned. "Do _you_ need to speak with Dr. Korone?"

Firmly resisting the urge to smack himself on the forehead, Seto growled, "_No_. I'm fine."

"Are you sure? Because he's right here and--"

"_Yes_," he almost shouted, then forced himself to calm down. He took a deep breath and switched comm lines. "Mokuba?"

"I'm here, Seto." There was the faintest hint of amusement in his little brother's voice. "Want to do a little biofeedback?"

"_Please_."

"Okay. Just listen to my voice and breathe with me..."

Mokuba led him through the calming exercise, synching their breathing, his soft voice soothing Seto's raw nerves. In a remarkably short time, Seto had settled back into the proper frame of mind. Relaxing into the pilot's sling, he watched the computer display where the AI's VR ribbon drifted languidly, its leading edge just brushing his own.

_You can approach me_, he thought, knowing that the AI could 'hear' him through their tentative contact. _I won't hurt you. You are welcome. _

A quicksilver flash of _queryneed?_ flickered against his mind, then was gone.

_You are welcome, _Seto repeated. He wasn't able to stop himself from stretching out a tendril of thought toward his mechanical partner, trying to urge it closer. _You are wanted. We have important work to do. Come, let us do our job. Together._

Carefully, he reached toward the AI. On the VR display, his blue "ribbon" extended itself toward the white one, nudging it gently, attempting to coax it into twining union.

"Captain? What are you--?" Gears sounded agitated. "You _have_ to remain passive! Let Blue-Eyes come to you on his own terms."

"Easy for you to say," Seto muttered under his breath. But he let his "ribbon" fall slack. Into the comm, he added, "You told me to offer. I _did_, but the AI is just sitting there. When is it going to accept that I'm not going to act against it?"

There was a frustrated sound, then a few seconds of studied silence. When she finally answered, her voice was as stern as he had ever heard it. "I know you don't want to sabotage your chances for success. Blue-Eyes has made overtures -- tentative, yes, but he's making real progress."

Seto opened his mouth to snap back, then subsided. As much as it pained him to admit it, she was right. "It's difficult. I... am not, by nature, a passive man."

There was a funny, strangled noise over the shared comm channel. It took Seto a moment to decipher it as Korone's hastily choked-off laughter. Seto directed a glower at the communications console, even though he knew the psychologist couldn't see him.

"Sorry, Seto," Korone said. He sounded a bit breathless, as if he had just been on the receiving end of a sharp elbow to the stomach. " I know this isn't easy for you, but you're doing great. Really."

The Blue-Eyes chose that moment to make contact, again, effectively stopping whatever retort Seto might have made. The burst of _welcomequery?_, closely followed by the AI's "ribbon" nudging his own shoved all other considerations from Seto's mind.

Reminding himself to remain calm, passive, to let the AI sense his thoughts rather than projecting them to it, Seto responded with as much acceptance and affirmation as he could muster. _Yes_, he thought, hoping the AI would 'hear' -- and believe -- him. _You are welcome, accepted. My Dragon, my_..._ partner_._ Will you accept me back?_

Briefly, the white "ribbon" coiled about the blue, and Seto almost drowned beneath the surge of _satisfactionassurance/devotionpride _that suddenly swamped his mind. Then the spike of contact flattened again, and Seto gasped as if he truly had been submerged.

"Alignment was at seventy-three point zero eight percent, that time." Gears sounded pleased. "We're definitely seeing progress. You're doing great, Blue-Eyes. I knew you could do this!"

Her uncharacteristic enthusiasm startled Seto -- until he realized she was talking _to the mech_. He thought he could hear Korone stifling another snicker over the comm channel, and suppressed his own urge to groan. A brush of the Blue-Eyes' thoughts against his revealed the AI's _amusementaffirmation_.Despite himself, Seto found the AI's amusement contagious. He snorted softly.

_You just think it's funny because you like her better than you like me_, he thought. He was joking, but the Blue-Eyes' instant denial went a long way toward bolstering his ego.

_Emphaticrejection!_ The white VR "ribbon" wound itself possessively about Seto's blue one. _Singularacceptance/emphaticaffirmation!_

_Only me, huh?_ Seto couldn't keep the smug satisfaction out of his mental "voice." _Good_.

_Emphaticaffirmation_. This time, the AI did not retreat. _Welcomequery?_

_Yes. Always welcome_.

_Satisfactionpride_.

"Alignment at seventy-five percent and rising," Gears reported. "Everything's still in the green. Primary TEM levels are within tolerance. Dr. Korone?"

"Pilot's vital signs are good," Korone's voice acknowledged. "We're 'go'."

"Lieutenant Kaiba?"

"Everything's 'go', here." Mokuba switched back to their private comm channel, and his voice went from professional cool to fraternal warmth. "You're doing it, big brother. I knew you could."

"Pilot/AI alignment at ...eighty-one, eighty-two...eighty-five percent," Gears announced, her delight fairly crackling over the open comm. "Gestalt entity is stabilizing within tolerances."

Seto barely heard them. All his attention was focused on the AI. The Dragon's white "ribbon" wove around Seto's, wrapping him up in that ... inexplicable warmth, again.

In the twilight space of their link, human and AI met, merged. Became _more_.

-------------------

"Pilot/AI alignment steady at eighty-nine-point-zero-two percent. Gestalt entity stable and holding." Gears looked up from her instruments and shared a rare, open grin with Korone. "We have gestalt!"

Korone swung gleefully around on their shared platform, cupped his hands to his mouth like a bullhorn, leaned over the rail, and shouted, "Ladies and gentlemen, the Blue-Eyes White Dragon is back!"

All around him, the gathered crowd erupted in a spontaneous cheer.

Beaming like a searchlight, Korone reached over and slapped his hand amiably against the mech's armor, including it in the celebration. "Good work, buddy."

Despite the safety lockdowns, the giant form of the Blue-Eyes seemed to stand straighter in its gantry. Korone's grin softened as he tilted his head back to peer up at the cockpit. He gave the white armor a final, congratulatory tap.

"Welcome back, Captain."


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

_The Valley of the Kings_

_On the west bank of the Nile at Luxor, Upper Egypt_

A driver from the expedition met them at the Luxor International Airport terminal and drove Yugi and his grandfather out to the site of the excavation. On the drive, which took them through the narrow streets of Luxor to the Corniche el Nil, then further south to the bridge spanning the broad stretch of the great river that separated the east bank from the west, Solomon explained that the newly discovered tomb was not located within the main valley, what most people thought of as the Valley of the Kings, but in a smaller wadi that branched off from the main one.

The main valley, where the Egyptologist Howard Carter had discovered the tomb of King Tutankhamun in the early part of the twentieth century, was one of the most active archaeological sites in the world. For a period of about five hundred years, it was the burial place of choice for Egypt's kings. Unlike its better known counterpart, the West Valley held few known burials, and only one that was open to the public, the tomb of Ay. In light of the current excavations, public access to even that tomb had been curtailed. _Their_ tomb -- Yugi had to smile a bit at his grandpa's use of the possessive pronoun -- was located in a remote part of the West Valley that had remained largely unexamined by archaeologists until now.

Solomon told Yugi how a local worker, exploring on his own in one of the side valleys, had literally stumbled across the entrance to the tomb. One of the rare flash floods that periodically swept through the area had washed away some of the rubble concealing the tomb entrance in the floor of the _wadi_. The man had caught his sandal in a crevice between two small boulders, tripped, and fallen into the opening, breaking his leg in the process. Fortunately, one of his brothers had not been far behind him, and had been able to go for help.

It had taken months for the archaeological team to clear the entrance shaft and find the first of several decorated rooms. Not all of the chambers inside the tomb were decorated or even completely carved out of the living bedrock. The tomb itself was obviously unfinished and appeared to have never held an actual burial. There was a granite sarcophagus in one of the chambers, but the sarcophagus was empty and there were no signs of a mummy having ever been laid to rest within it.

Yugi watched his grandpa's excitement growing with every minute they came closer to seeing the actual tomb. Solomon grinned at him, obviously well aware that he was acting like a little kid on Christmas morning and completely unashamed of the anticipation glowing on his face. Yugi smiled, vicariously enjoying the thrill he could sense building in the older man. "Will we get to see inside the tomb today?"

"I think so, yes." Solomon fidgeted with the soft felt fedora in his lap. He craned his neck to peer out the car window at the dull beige landscape. They had long since left the green swathe of the cultivation along the Nile's banks behind and were bouncing along the uneven track leading into the desert. "I think Arthur will want me to examine the tomb paintings right away."

Their driver shot them a quick glance before focusing on the road again. "Dr. Emerson-Kaiba is also anxious to hear your opinion on the paintings, Mr. Mutou."

"Ah." Solomon allowed himself a satisfied nod. "Good, then. I guess that means we'll definitely be seeing the inside of the tomb, Yugi."

"I can't wait." Yugi settled back in the uncomfortable seat, trying to avoid the spring that seemed determined to drill a hole in his lower back, and turned his own attention to the passing landscape. Up ahead and to one side, he could see the towering cliffs of the famed Valley of the Kings coming closer.

He wondered what they would find there.

----------------------

At the excavation site, Yugi barely had time to take in a quick impression of the set-up -- tents and trailers for the on-site examination of artifacts as they were removed from the tomb, workers sifting sand and debris through large sieves on stands, computers and unidentifiable high-tech equipment seemingly randomly located around the area. And people. Lots and lots of people -- conserving, cataloguing, documenting. It all passed in a jumble of shifting colors and dopplering conversations as he trotted after his grandpa and their guide.

The guide led them to one of the larger tents -- a marvel of modern technology, the "tent" was practically a portable building, with a light reflective roof and climate controlled interior, capable of withstanding not only the oppressive heat of the Upper Egyptian summer, but also anything the wind or unexpected storms might throw at it. Inside, Yugi shivered as the sweat that had been trickling down the back of his neck began to evaporate. His attention was quickly taken by the older gentleman who stood up from his workstation at their approach.

"Solomon! It's good to see you, old friend." The man was about the same age as Solomon, or perhaps a little older, but towered over him by a good ten inches. Where Solomon's hair and beard were steel gray, this man had snow white hair in a fashionable coif and a neat little mustache. His smile made the many wrinkles in his face appear to dance as he shook hands with Solomon. Then his gaze settled on Yugi. "And this must be the grandson I've heard so much about."

"Yes, this is Yugi. Yugi, I'd like you to meet my good friend, Arthur Hawkins."

"How do you do, sir?" Yugi shook hands with Arthur, who smiled at him with obvious approval.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, young man. Your grandfather is quite proud of you, you know. He's spoken of you so often that I almost feel as if I already know you."

Yugi fought the blush, but the blush won. "Um... Thank you, sir."

"Modest, as well, eh?" Arthur chuckled. My granddaughter is around here somewhere. I would like for you to meet her -- perhaps we can all have dinner together. For now, however... Solomon, what do you say we venture into the tomb so I can show you those paintings?"

"I'd like that very much," Solomon agreed. "Is it all right if Yugi accompanies us? He's anxious to see the paintings, as well."

"I suppose it will be all right." Arthur glanced at Yugi. "You know not to touch anything inside the tomb? The paintings are very delicate and we can't risk damaging them any further than they already are."

"He knows. I've given him the safety lecture, as well." Solomon winked at Yugi. "You'll be on your best behavior, right, Yugi?"

Yugi forced himself not to roll his eyes. He wasn't a little kid, after all. "Yeah, Grandpa. I know what not to do!"

"Very well, then. Come along, both of you. I'm quite anxious to get your opinion on several of the paintings in particular, Solomon..."

Yugi stopped listening as the discussion quickly turned technical. He trailed the two older men as they exited the tent and walked over to another structure -- a climate control airlock, Arthur explained, to help prevent damage to the artifacts inside the tomb, as well as the fragile plaster which held the tomb paintings -- which had been erected over the square hole in the ground that was the entrance to the tomb shaft. Ranks of sand bags around the opening held back the loose scree and shifting earth disturbed by the digging. A pulley system had been set up inside the shelter to aid in removing larger items from the tomb. A sturdy ladder set against one wall of the shaft provided a way down into the dark interior. Arthur explained that heavy equipment like exoskeletal loaders or construction mecha were prohibited in the Valley of the Kings, since the vibrations caused by their operation so close to the tombs could cause irreparable damage.

Once inside the shaft, Yugi realized that it had only appeared dark when compared with the bright sunlight outside. Self-powered lanterns strung near the ceiling provided illumination inside the tomb for the workers and archaeologists. The lights, Arthur told them, were specially selected because they did not give off heat that would damage the plaster and paint on the walls and ceilings.

When they came to the first decorated chamber, Yugi gasped aloud. It was _beautiful_. On the wall nearest the doorway, a grape arbor hung heavy with ripe clusters of fruit. Servants dressed in short white kilts picked the grapes and piled them into tall woven baskets to be carried away on their shoulders. Among the thick green leaves, birds sang and a cat stalked. Yugi stared, wide-eyed, at the painting, almost able to hear the birdsong and smell the scent of the sweet, ripe grapes.

On another wall, a tall nobleman stood with his legs braced apart on top of a reed skiff floating in a papyrus marsh. Fish darted through the blue water beneath his poised spear. On the banks, the reeds were alive with birds, insects, and small animals. A spotted hunting cat stalked a heron through the dense forest of papyrus. A butterfly alit delicately atop a flowering reed. In the shallows, a crocodile lazed in the warmth of the sun. Yugi moved closer, drawn by the intricate detail. He thought he could almost hear the soft rustling of the reeds as the cooling north wind whispered through them, offering comfort from the heat. He could taste the thick, green scent of the marsh in the back of his throat, hear the water as it lapped against the low sides of the skiff. He found himself swaying with the movement...

"Impressive, isn't it?" Arthur's voice called Yugi back to the present. "These are some of the finest and best-preserved examples of tomb paintings that have ever been found. If we had discovered nothing else, these paintings alone would be worth the effort of preserving this tomb. But..." His eyes twinkled. "We have found so much more."

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Solomon demanded, clapping his hands together briskly. "Show me these wonderful paintings of yours, Arthur."

"This way."

Arthur led them through another doorway cut into the opposite wall, down a sloping hall barely wide enough for two men to walk abreast, and through a series of smaller rooms. Some of the walls held only blank white plaster. Some bore the red marks of the artists' initial drawings, the grid which had been used to lay them out still visible in the background. A few showed where the painters had begun blocking in color over the original drawings.

Finally, they reached their destination. The new chamber was large and fully decorated. Even the ceiling was painted like a night sky filled with yellow, five-pointed stars. At the center sat the empty granite sarcophagus.

"Over here, Solomon," Arthur said as he led Solomon away. "I want you to have a look at this--"

Gradually, Yugi tuned out their conversation again as he made his way slowly around what was probably the burial chamber, admiring the paintings that adorned the walls, their colors still brilliant even after almost four millennia. He froze before a particular tableau, staring at the figures in the painting with his mouth agape and his eyes even wider than usual. "Uh... Professor Hawkins?"

The older man broke off his conversation with Yugi's grandfather and turned. "Yes?"

"Who..." Yugi had to swallow, hard, before he could continue. He pointed at the wall painting. "Who is that?"

"Ah! Yes, that's one of the finer examples in the tomb," Hawkins said, ambling over to stand beside Yugi. He gestured to the figure bowing low, both outstretched hands holding an offering -- incense in one, a votive statue of Ma'at in the other. "That is Setnakht, called Seti. The man for whom this tomb was constructed. He was one of the Pharaoh's closest advisors and, we believe, his cousin. Here we see him making an offering to the deceased king."

Yugi nodded absently, his gaze firmly fixed on the other main figure in the painting: a regal figure seated on a throne inside a golden pavilion. "That man... That's the Pharaoh?"

Hawkins nodded. "Yes. So far, we've been unable to determine his name. There are cartouches, but they are all empty, as if the names were never carved into place. It's most unusual, and one of the reasons I wanted your grandfather to examine the paintings."

There was more, but Yugi wasn't listening. His gaze roamed over the seated figure, taking in every detail. It was slightly larger than life, a seated man dressed in royal finery, his hands clutching the crook and flail of kingship. To Yugi's eyes, the man's features were clearly recognizable, despite the formal ancient Egyptian style. Even if they hadn't been, the hair was unmistakable.

The pharaoh in the painting looked exactly like Yami.

-----------------------

Location unknown 

Yami was growing very tired of waking up with a raging headache and absolutely no idea where he was. Suppressing a groan, he pressed one hand to his forehead as he sat up and looked around. The room was different -- still carved from rock, still a strange mixture of primitive and modern, but unlike the last chamber he had woken up in, this one felt lived-in. In addition to the bed he found himself on, the room held a small table that seemed to do double-duty as a desk, a pair of wooden chairs, and an assortment of storage chests. A shelf over the table held a few worn books. The table itself was piled high with books, papers, an electronic reader, a lamp, and what looked like some sort of scrolls, as well as various writing instruments. One of the chairs held a discarded white robe and a plate containing a half-eaten chunk of dark brown bread. The faint, spicy scent of incense hung in the still air.

The contents of the room offered plenty of possibilities for use as makeshift weapons: everything from the books to the small statues of animal-headed figures to the robe could be turned on his captors -- if only he possessed the strength to get up from the bed and use them. Yami gave an experimental shift, attempting to rise from the bed. His head exploded in fresh agony. Clutching his face in both hands, he fell back against the pillows.

"You shouldn't try to get up yet."

The voice was soft, as if the speaker knew a harsher sound would hurt him. Yami pried one eye open and peered through the shelter of his fingers at the figure approaching the bed. It was the one who called himself 'Malik.' He held out one hand toward Yami.

"I have brought you some water. And something for the pain, if you will take it."

Warily, Yami lowered his hands so he could examine the offering. Malik held a sealed bottle of water in one hand, the one stretched toward him, and a pair of white pills in the cupped palm of the other. "What are they?"

"Acetaminophen." Malik placed the pills on the bed beside Yami's leg, then turned to pull one of the wooden chairs closer. He sat, raising an eyebrow as he again offered the bottled water. "Our physician's options are somewhat limited, I'm afraid. He could find no cause for your earlier collapse. Do you know what caused it?"

Yami reached for the water. He twisted off the cap and took a long swallow. The cool water felt like a soothing balm as it slid down his parched throat. Even the throbbing ache in his head seemed to ease a bit. He drank again, before meeting Malik's gaze. He studied the other man for a long moment, but could only read curiosity and what appeared to be genuine concern in his eyes. "I don't know what causes it. I just know it hurts."

"It has happened before?"

Rather than answer, Yami lifted the water bottle to his lips again. Malik smiled, the barest curving of his lips. "You do not trust me."

"No."

"I have spoken only the truth. We have no wish to harm you."

"Why did you bring me here?"

Both of Malik's eyebrows rose until they almost vanished beneath his turban. "You do not remember how you came to be here?"

Yami shook his head.

"No one brought you. You simply... appeared." Malik made a gesture with his hands that was meant to convey Yami appearing out of thin air. "A portal opened in the mortuary temple as the priests were performing the rites of morning. You fell from the portal, almost on top of the _naos_. The priests were understandably surprised."

"Portal? I don't understand..."

Malik tilted his head as he studied Yami's face. "And I do not understand how it is possible for you to have accessed the Shadows without being aware of their existence. In fact, I do not believe it to be possible. Therefore, you must be lying to me."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Yami tried to ignore the faint tremor in his voice. _Shadows?_ Why did everything seem to come back to the damn shadows? He remembered the silken feel of the shadows gliding along his skin in an icy, unwanted caress, and had to suppress a shiver of revulsion. "Are you going to tell me where I am now?"

"I am not certain I should."

"How do you expect me to trust you if you won't answer any of my questions?" Yami's patience had worn thin somewhere atop the Kaiba Corporation Mars tower and Malik's attitude wasn't helping it recover. Something Malik had said nagged at the back of his thoughts, but he was too muzzy-headed to process it clearly. He shook his head. "At least tell me where I am. There are people who will be worried about my disappearance."

"Undoubtedly, this is so." Malik bowed his head in thought as he considered the request. "But there are many here who depend upon my discretion, as well. I cannot forego my obligation to them simply to make you comfortable with me."

Yami could respect that stance, even as it frustrated him. He knew all about obligation and duty. His gaze flickered down to the two white tablets still resting on the sheet. He picked up the tablets, contemplating them as he considered what he should do. Malik had told him they were nothing more than acetaminophen. But how could he trust that, or anything else Malik might claim, when he knew nothing about the other man? He was in a terrible position. People were trying to kill him. For all he knew, Malik could be one of them. Malik held all the cards, right now, and Yami desperately needed to see what the other man had in his hand. Only then would Yami know what his next move should be.

"Lord Malik?"

Both Yami and Malik turned to find the owner of that gravelly voice hesitating in the open doorway.

"Yes, Rashid? What is it?"

"Rumors have begun to spread... about our 'visitor'." Rashid stepped a bit further into the room, an aura of uncertainty clinging to him. "I believe it would be prudent for you to address the people before things get completely out of hand."

Malik sighed. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, pinching the bridge of his nose as if feeling a headache coming on. Yami could sympathize. His own head still throbbed from his earlier 'incident.'

"I will see what I can do to calm things down." Malik rose from his seat beside the bed. At the doorway, he paused, turning his head to look back at Yami, though his words were directed to Rashid. "Find someone trustworthy to come sit with him. If he has another of those... spells... I want someone here to help him. Instruct them to send for the physician at once, should our guest appear to be in any distress."

Rashid nodded. "I will see to it."

Malik cast a final look at Yami. "I'm sorry, but I must lock the door while I'm gone. I cannot allow you to wander around on your own. Not only is it dangerous, since you are unfamiliar with this place, but if you should collapse again--"

"Rationalize it however you want." Yami folded his arms over his chest and leaned wearily against the wall behind him. "Or simply admit that I'm your prisoner and be done with it."

"We'll talk more when I return," Malik said. He touched Rashid's arm, and the two of them left together, closing the door.

Yami heard the door lock behind them. Alone once more, he tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling. What the hell was going on here? And how the hell was he going to get out of it?

--------------------------

_Millennium Group Epigraphical Survey Expedition Field Headquarters _

_"Geb House"_

Luxor, Upper Egypt 

A different driver brought Yugi and his grandfather back from the Valley of the Kings to the expedition's field house in Luxor. The driver helped unload their luggage from the car, but it was up to Yugi to haul the heavy suitcases upstairs. He dropped them on the floor between the twin beds, then collapsed face down onto the nearest mattress in the kind of boneless sprawl that said he didn't want to move until morning.

"No time for that." Solomon chuckled and prodded Yugi's foot where it dangled over the side of the narrow mattress. "Get up, favorite grandson. We're supposed to meet Arthur and his granddaughter back downstairs in --" Solomon consulted his watch. "-- less than fifteen minutes for dinner. You don't want to make us late, do you?"

"No, Grandpa." Yugi groaned. Trying to ignore the protest of travel weary muscles, he flipped himself over onto his back and then levered himself up off the bed. He spent a few minutes locating the bathroom (just down the hall, as it turned out), and then a few more splashing cool water on his face to wash away the accumulation of sweat and dust he had garnered on the drive back from the Valley.

The ancient SUV the expedition had allocated to ferry them around did not have a working air conditioner, a defect that became more troublesome the more he was exposed to the blistering heat. The driver informed them, with an apologetic little grin, that the temperatures usually reached triple digits during Luxor's summer season. Yugi could believe it. He felt as if he were going to melt every time he ventured outside a climate controlled zone.

Yugi dragged a comb through his hair in a vain effort to tame it, then gave up and dashed back to their room to shrug into a clean, non-sweat stained t-shirt and fresh jeans. Deeming himself as presentable as he was going to get on short notice, he went in search of his grandpa and found him waiting at the top of the stairs.

-----------------------------

Dinner went smoothly. Despite their obvious desire to continue the discussion they had begun in the tomb, Solomon and Arthur declared a moratorium on "shop talk" for the duration of the meal. Yugi listened to his grandpa and Arthur swap tall tales about past adventures, piping up with the occasional correction when Solomon's stories gained a little too much height, and just enjoyed watching his grandpa have a good time. Arthur introduced Yugi to his granddaughter, Rebecca Hawkins, at the beginning of the meal.

Rebecca turned out to be a fifteen year old with a pair of dishwater blonde pigtails, freckles, half-moon glasses, and an attitude that tested even Yugi's patience after an hour of listening to her firm declarations on subjects ranging from archaeology to the food in front of them to the war against the alien invaders. In the world according to Rebecca not enough people realized the genius of the Hawkins family (she obviously included herself in that assessment); she could produce a gourmet meal far superior to the meager offering on their table; and the war could be settled in only a few hours if "someone" would "just sit down with" the aliens, find out the "root causes" of their determination to conquer the solar system, and "talk it all out."

Yugi rolled his eyes, ate another bite of his salad, and tried to turn the conversation to a safer topic.

By the time he returned to the room he would share with Solomon for the next two weeks, Yugi was almost asleep on his feet. But when he flopped onto the bed, he quickly discovered that he was too tired to fall asleep. After counting the imperfections in the ceiling plaster for the tenth time, he gave up. His grandpa was still downstairs, holed up in one of the offices with Arthur Hawkins so the two of them could continue the conversation they had begun earlier in the evening. No doubt they were deep in discussions about the enigmatic tomb paintings that had so excited Solomon's intellectual curiosity.

Since he had the room all to himself, Yugi didn't hesitate to flip on the bedside lamp on the nightstand between the twin beds. He padded over to the closet on his side of the room and retrieved his satchel, from which he pulled the small box that contained the pieces of his treasured puzzle. Settling back on the bed, he tugged the covers over his lap, then dumped the puzzle pieces onto the mattress in front of him and began assembling the golden pyramid shape once more.

As he worked, Yugi's mind drifted to thoughts of Mars... and Yami. He wondered what Yami was doing right now. Was he working late in the Kaiba Corp offices at the Mars mecha facility? Was he, maybe, thinking about Yugi?

Thoughts of Yami inevitably led him back to that image in the tomb. If it had been only a single painting, he might have been able to dismiss it as a coincidence. A _weird_ coincidence, but nothing more. However, as he had wandered around the various rooms inside the surprisingly spacious tomb, he encountered several more paintings representing the same man, the Nameless Pharaoh. Every one of them looked like Yami. It made Yugi even more eager to call Mars so he could tell Yami all about it, but he had promised his grandpa that he would wait until the next day, when the rates would be cheaper.

Images of Yami garbed in linen and gold spun through Yugi's head, dazzling him. His mind so occupied, he reached absently for another puzzle piece and slotted it into place.

---------------------

When Solomon returned to the room a few hours later, he found Yugi, sound asleep, curled up around the partially completed pyramid puzzle, the hand tucked beneath his chin still gripping the center piece with its raised _udjat_.

Smiling softly to himself, Solomon tucked the covers more securely around his grandson and then climbed into his own bed, where he fell asleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow. The pillowcase smelled faintly of sunshine and a hint of jasmine, and Solomon dreamed of younger days -- and the scent of his wife's perfume.


	25. Interlude

Interlude 

_Elsewhere_...

For a thousand years, the Seal held.

Even within the confines of his prison, his thoughts slowed and made sluggish by the magic that held him, he felt it. The Seal, the barrier between the Realm of Shadows and the world of light, was a bright spark in his awareness. It tasted of copper and natron, and prickled along his nerves like the atmosphere before a storm.

For most of those first thousand years, he slept (if one could call it such), suspended in a dream of darkness without end. At indistinct intervals, he was pulled, half-aware, from his uneasy slumber. Each time, the knowledge that something was probing the magic, testing it, rang through his mind like a warning bell. It burned him, this certainty that there were those, on both sides of the Seal, pecking away at the magic. Seeking to breach the barrier.

The probes were tentative at first, barely waking him. Over time, like a trickle of water gradually wearing away at a mighty dam, the testing began to have an effect. Slowly, so slowly that it escaped his notice at first, the Seal weakened.

It took another millennium, but minute cracks formed. New pressures, from within and without, caused them to grow. Eventually, the least of the Realm's denizens found a way to wriggle and squeeze their tendrils through the cracks, extending their influence into the world on the other side of the barrier. They were little more than frail echoes of the Shadows, dependent upon the one who summoned them to anchor them to the light, but their very existence in that other realm damaged the barrier even further.

More time passed. The Seal still held -- barely. Great tremors shook his prison now and then, becoming stronger as his awareness reassembled and the barrier thinned. Webbed with cracks that glowed with a dark anti-light, shining brighter as the magic was torn asunder, the barrier began to fail.

He could feel the press of the Shadows against the Seal now. For four millennia, the Seal had held them, separate from the world of mankind -- and from him. Soon, the Seal would shatter, the dam break --

He shivered in his slumber, within his failing prison. The barrier would fall. The Shadows would be free.

_Another piece of the Puzzle locked into place. _

_And the barrier trembled..._


	26. Chapter 26

Author's Note: Most of this story is locked in a hard drive on a dead pc, but I had sent this chapter to my beta reader, who just recently found the copy in her email archive. Yay! So, here's a long-overdue update. More will follow once I've rescued the rest of my files.

Chapter 26

_SSDF Orbital Station 002_

_Mars orbit_

Duke cheered with the rest of the crews in the mech hangar when Dr. Korone's triumphant announcement rang through the bay. But he was no closer than before to finding a way to shield the mecha from the alien energy weapon, so he immediately turned back to his work deep inside the innards of the partially disassembled Red-Eyes Black Dragon. He had already pulled the fried components from the main cockpit in the mech's "skull." Now, he was yanking out the linked units in the secondary TEM relay.

Ordinarily, he would have turned such hands-on grunt work over to one of the junior techs, but there was something fishy about the way the feedback had cascaded through the mech's systems, even affecting Serenity Wheeler in her Anchor pod in the control center on the station, that made him decide to do it himself. Just a few more chip sets, buffer boxes, and a few miles of wire, and he could retire to the lab with his new acquisitions and continue what Dr. Korone had ghoulishly labeled his "mech autopsy."

Several hours later, Duke crawled back out of the Red-Eyes' torso, ready for a much needed break to stretch his tired and cramped limbs, and to give his overworked brain a rest. Grease streaked his forehead where he had swiped at the sweat trickling into his eyes, and his hair was in a state of disarray that was _not_ the result of half an hour in front of a mirror with a large supply of styling products. Duke wiped his hands down the front of his borrowed coveralls, then scrubbed at his face. The last few days had taken their toll on him. He was working around the clock to find a solution to the problem General Anderson had set before him: find a way to protect their pilots from the devastating new weapon. Unfortunately, he was beginning to wonder if such a thing were even possible.

Duke stretched, cat-like, trying to ease some of the kinks out of his aching back and shoulders. He leaned against the Red-Eyes' torso, letting the inert machine take his weight while his gaze roamed idly around the bustling hangar and finally came to rest on the Blue-Eyes White Dragon across the bay. The Blue-Eyes team was still hard at work, various technicians taking baseline readings on the new gestalt entity while others, mostly emergency personnel, stood at their posts and hoped they would not be needed. From his position, he could see Gears and Dr. Korone up on the platform near the top of the maintenance gantry that held the Blue-Eyes in place. A couple of techs from the mech's ground crew were crawling over the outside of the machine, testing calibrations, and a very bored looking EMT slouched against one of the Blue-Eyes' enormous "boots," making small talk with her partner.

A frown slid across Duke's brow. Something seemed out of place or... missing? Quickly, he scanned the area around the Blue-Eyes again, noting the technicians, the EMTs, Gears and Korone... The frown deepened. He widened his search, turning in place to take in the rest of the hangar visible from his vantage point, and still could not find what he knew should be there.

There was no mistake. Mokuba's Anchor Specialist was nowhere to be found. Concerned now, Duke climbed up onto the Red-Eyes' gutted torso and scanned the bay again. Still no sight of Alister. The wrongness of the situation nagged at him. Where had Alister gone? Maybe he had needed a restroom break, but even so, he should have called in one of the other Anchor Specialists to take his place until he got back. It was unconscionable for an Anchor Specialist to leave his Anchor unattended during a live gestalt. What if there was a problem during the gestalt? Worse, what if there was a problem during _retrieval_? Even with the emergency personnel and Korone on-site, Mokuba might need his Anchor Specialist's help. After all, Korone's attention had to be on the Duelist. Gears was rightly concentrating on the gestalt entity and the AI. The Anchor Specialist focused on the ins and outs of the Anchor pods and secondary TEM connections, knew them better and more intimately than even Duke did. He shook his head. He would speak with Dr. Korone later about Alister's dereliction of duty. As head of the Duelist/Anchor Support department, the Anchor Specialists were Korone's responsibility and Alister's discipline would fall under his authority.

Resolution made, Duke slid from his perch atop the partially disassembled mech. He decided to find the nearest comm-unit and call for another Specialist to replace Alister until the missing man returned. Disciplinary measures could come later; right now, it was more important to get someone down here in case something went wrong.

No sooner had the thought formed, than Duke was almost blinded by a massive flash of acid green light exploding from the open hatch of the Blue-Eyes White Dragon's secondary cockpit. Instinctively, he had thrown up his arm to protect his eyes. Now, he lowered his arm and stared, aghast, at the mech. His heart pounding as if it would smash its way out of his chest, he gulped in a much needed breath, then shook off the temporary paralysis of shock and sprinted toward the stricken mech.

By the time he had cleared half the distance, the EMTs were in motion, swarming up the gantry toward the open cockpit. Black smoke, carrying with it the stench of fried circuitry and burning wires, poured from the opening. An alarm began to shrill somewhere in the background, drowning out the shouts of the technicians converging on the mech. Some portion of his mind not narrowed in on the imperative to get there, to _help_, noted the fire suppression crew approaching at a run.

He reached the foot of the gantry, skidding to a halt just as Korone jumped from the ladder and reached up to swing a distraught and protesting Gears the rest of the way to the floor. Korone grabbed her arm when she would have leaped onto the ladder and climbed back up.

"We're in the way up there!" Korone gave her a shake. "I know you're worried about the AI, but _think_. We have to wait for the EMTs to get Seto out, then we can go back up."

Korone's words finally seemed to get through to her. She nodded, wrapping trembling arms around herself, her chin sinking toward her chest. Only then did Duke realize she had left her ubiquitous datalink behind on the platform. Without it, she seemed smaller somehow, as if she were shrinking in on herself to make up for the loss of her comforting shield. For his part, Korone just looked pissed. Duke hurried to join them.

"What's going on?" The smoke had thinned, drawn away by the station's atmosphere controls and the efforts of the fire crew. "Was there an explosion?"

Korone shook his head. "We were on the upper gantry. I didn't hear or feel anything like an explosion. What did you see?"

"I saw a flash of green light, then all this smoke."

"The secondary TEM unit malfunctioned," a small voice said.

Both men turned to stare at Gears. Duke recovered his voice first. "What? What do you mean the secondary TEM malfunctioned? It was perfectly fine before!"

Her chin came up, but it wasn't a gesture of defiance, that much was made clear by her flat response. "I saw it spike on my datalink. A surge of energy, too much for the compensators to handle, and too fast for me to do anything." Her shoulders moved in a helpless shrug. "I've never seen anything like it. I didn't know what to do, and now I can't do anything, because _somebody_ yanked me down here without my datalink and -- oh, god, what if they weren't far enough along when the spike happened and Captain Kaiba's trapped in gestalt?!"

Duke shot a horrified look at Korone, who explained, "Mokuba had just initiated retrieval when... whatever it was… happened. Hopefully, the retrieval was far enough along that Seto made it out on his own. If that's the case, he'll have one hell of a gestalt hangover, but he'll be okay."

"And Mokuba?"

Korone looked torn between fury and fear. "If the explosion, or whatever it was, was in the secondary TEM -- the one Mokuba was directly interfaced with during the retrieval..." He let the unhappy thought trail off unfinished. Some things were better left unspoken, in case speaking them made them come true.

Duke shivered. "_Fuck_."

"Yeah," Korone said softly.

A few minutes later, the EMTs had removed both Anchor and Duelist from the mech. Both were unconscious, though Duke wondered if the reason Seto was unconscious might be because they had been forced to sedate him. He did not think that even the backlash from the TEM failure would have kept Seto Kaiba from his little brother, otherwise.

With the injured on their way to Medical, and the fire out, Duke, Gears, and Korone wasted no time in examining the damaged mech. Gears leaped onto the gantry lift and sent it racing upward at top speed, clearly intent on retrieving her datalink and finding out what had happened. Korone swung up onto the ladder and began climbing. Duke followed.

At the top, they found Gears already hunched over her datalink, which was no longer connected to the mech. She punched up new screens as fast as her fingers could fly over the controls, shaking her head and muttering to herself. Duke crouched down beside her and peered at the small display screen. "Is that the spike?"

"Um... Yeah." Distracted, barely seeming aware of his presence or that of Korone behind them, she muttered, "I've never seen anything like it."

Duke leaned over so he could see the screen in question -- and froze. His hands clenched, and the breath hung in his throat. When he could speak again, he growled, "_I have_."

That got her attention. Gears stared at him with wide eyes. "What--?"

But Duke wasn't listening. He sprang to his feet, nearly losing his balance. Korone grabbed his arm to steady him. Duke yanked it free. "Where's Alister?"

"What? He's..." Korone frowned. "He should have been with Mokuba when the EMTs pulled him out of the cockpit."

"But he wasn't. He wasn't at his post earlier, either. I was looking for him right before the explosion, and noticed he was gone."

"Shit." Korone dragged his fingers through his hair. "Where's the nearest comm-unit?"

Duke pointed to the nearest emergency kiosk, blocky red cylinders that held first-aid kits, fire-extinguishers, eye-wash stations… and comm-units.

"You two stay here and see what you can do for Blue-Eyes," Korone said, stepping onto the lift with fury sparking in his green eyes. "I'll contact security... and General Anderson."

"I'm going to have to initiate stasis to stabilize the AI," Gears mumbled in response. She still seemed to be talking more to herself than to them.

Duke leaned over the rail and called down to Korone, who was already descending toward the floor. "Get some guards down here, too. I don't want anyone but the three of us coming anywhere near this mech until we find out what the hell is going on."

Korone acknowledged him with a nod, then jumped from the lift while it was still three feet off the floor and ran toward the emergency kiosk. Duke shivered from a sudden chill.

It looked like they had uncovered their saboteur. Now, all they had to do was find him.


End file.
